Shadow of the Bat
by Summersfan
Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something. NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

A/N: I watched The Dark Knight, and it was spellbinding. SPELLBINDING! Nothing on Smallville can compare. Nothing in film currently can compare. It went beyond a simple superhero movie into something transcendent. Obvious response? Weave Smallville into that tapestry and see what happens.

1.

He was an arrogant bore. He walked around with beautiful women all the time, never discussed anything honestly, and most the time seemed one heartbeat away from laughing at everybody in the room.

She'd heard ugly rumors about him. Rumors about breakdowns, about going missing. She'd heard bizarre rumors. That his management of his parent's company was inane, at best. That he would dive into research and development and pull out when it looked promising, deep-sixing projects. That he had turned his back on lucrative government contracts. That he had severed ties with many companies over small slights.

She hoped that was the extent of it. If he was really the kind of shallow, insipid millionaire he appeared to be, then he was no threat. He was nothing, and Clark had nothing to fear from this man.

But that wasn't quite how the story had started.

He'd come to town to take over the plant. Luthercorp's latest loss, and one of the worst. There was a rumor he was retasking it, doing new things.

Chloe had thought herself so far beyond Smallville it wasn't even funny. Wasn't she a grown-up girl now, a Metropolis girl? But here she was, sitting, smiling, and asking questions of a brand-new millionaire.

His face was a mask. A pretty mask, one with a witty answer and a pleasant smile, and cheekbones that hid everything he might be thinking. And his plans made perfect sense, after all. Retask and refit the plant, turn it profitable by changing the game.

It was a gamble, but this man rarely lost.

"Of course, Lucius is the man who cooked all this up," said Bruce. "I was out parasailing for most of this."

He had been shamelessly flirting with her throughout the interview. She hadn't discouraged him, exactly, but she had no intention of taking his attempts at deflection lightly. She wasn't ready to trot out Bad-Cop!Chloe yet, saving that for if he actually tried to lie directly. "He tells me you stay mostly out of the day to day company work," she said, acknowledging that their stories matched up eerily well.

Bruce smiled. "My job is to make sure I'm never in his way, and that people always remember who the 'Wayne' in Wayne Enterprises is. Incidentally, I hear your town here is quite the hotspot for paranormal activity." He was smiling the indulgent smile of a rational man, and Chloe avoided a groan narrowly.

"That's what they say," she replied.

"I pulled some back issues of your old school newspaper when you were writing for it. Fascinating stuff." His smile was so condescending she wanted to scream. "I have got to have you over to my mansion soon. I have a room where I've got this collection—I doubt it's weird enough to meet your high standards, but I'm quite proud of it."

That was strange. A date? Not on your life; she was too smart to get entangled with somebody this rich and commit-o-phobic. But a dangled bait? She'd fall for it every time. She couldn't help it. "I don't often visit Gotham," she demurred.

"Oh, I can be very persistent," he purred in that smooth voice. "We'll find a way."

She decided that she would have to find a way to resist this bait.

2.

She met the stranger that night, trying to get to her car. He was wearing a ski mask, and a leather jacket, and leaning against her car. His voice was rough and brutal, down-register and full of menace. "Miss Sullivan. May I have a word?"

She reached for the mace in her purse, wrapping her fingers around it and white-knuckling it. "You have a message for me, huh? Can I guess who it's from?"

The stranger shrugged. "No message. Just a question. The word is you've done a lot of good, and put a lot of people behind bars; but word also is it's unwise to cross you. Who are you working for?"

She glared at him. "Who are you working for?"

He shrugged again, but this one was a threat, and she could see it. "I suggest you don't go to Gotham. Tell your employer the same. It might look like easy pickings, but it's not."

He left like some kind of ninja, silent and deadly. She dropped the mace into the purse, chewing on her lower lip as she considered that warning.

It took her a few hours to find amateur video of the Batman, shot during the Joker crisis. He was walking across a sidewalk, wearing that absurd uniform, and growling out something. It was the voice that confirmed her nagging suspicion; she'd just been visited by Gotham City's very own vigilante, a known murderer who had killed the District Attorney and several others in putting down the Joker's crime spree—terror spree, to be more accurate.

She'd been visited by yet another vigilante, somebody who thought they could do better than the average joe when it came to justice, somebody who had excessive amounts of power and not enough good sense. And he had to have some sort of superpowers. All the reports she read made that clear. He was a flier, strong enough to bend a gun barrel, able to rip holes in steel walls, able to defeat dozens of men single-handedly. One report had him being able to see through walls.

There was a report he had defeated an entire SWAT team without breaking a sweat. Another had him tearing through Gotham's streets in an enormous, ridiculous vehicle.

She wasn't entirely sure how much to believe. Obviously, the reports she'd been reading could have been inflated—but if it were a story about, say, Clark, no matter how they inflated the stories they still wouldn't even come close to the truth.

It was maddening. The warning was having the opposite of the intended effect; now she absolutely HAD to go to Gotham.

3.

Bruce sat in his chair, watching the video feed. All he was getting was a copy of whatever showed up on her computer screen, which was pretty limited compared to his normal levels of intelligence gathering; he was pretty far out of his town, here. But it was telling, anyway.

Very telling.

He'd done a bit of investigation before approaching her. He hadn't brought the suit—no way he could pull that off in a town like this, not inconspicuously. But he'd wanted to get her to Gotham. Needed to get her to Gotham.

Arranging the interview and dangling the Wayne collection in front of her had obviously been insufficient bait. Given her past entanglements with weird happenings, he knew that she would be unable to resist a different kind of bait. And given how stubborn she appeared, telling her to stay away was easier than asking her to come.

He smiled slightly.

"Do you think this is wise, sir?" asked Alfred, a thinly veiled bit of sarcasm behind the question. He wanted to ask another question, obviously. Wanted to ask 'are you out of your mind?' That question was always on the table, of course.

"Wise? No, Alfred, I don't. She definitely has the ability and temerity to break down walls, and the last thing I need is somebody actually good at it trying to learn my secrets. But there's a definite connection between the Trio and the Smallville incidents; something changed them there, made them something else. Something I need to understand to defeat. From the looks of things, she's one of the few people who understands what happened, and I need that knowledge."

"If she truly knows something, it won't be easy to get her to share it."

Bruce rubbed a knuckle against his chin. "No, it won't. When she was interviewing me she was… she's good, very good. She could see through most of what I said, see the masks. See the deceptions. We're going to have to limit her time with that aspect of me. I suspect we'd get further if I show her the other mask."

Alfred smiled sardonically. "And which mask shows more of who you really are, sir? Your face, or the cowl?"

Bruce scowled at him. "So we agree it'll be easier to keep her out by letting her deal with Batman, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll pretend not to trust her, draw her into a little game of building trust. Let her see the Trio, figure out the Smallville connection, and see if she'll trust me enough to tell me."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Problems that she runs into have a way of going away. One way or another. If this is stuff from her city leaking into mine? Maybe she'll mop it up. Maybe the best we'll get is some intelligence."

"And if this doesn't pan out at all?"

Bruce grimaced. "Then it's back to the drawing board, and back to the idea of building some kind of weapon that could stop a tank, or one of those three."

4.

Taking up Bruce Wayne on his offer of a tour of his house proved to be a boring half hour, after which he shunted her aside for four supermodels he was taking out to dinner. It was utterly humiliating, and Chloe was glad nobody saw it except for the butler.

After he left she stayed a few minutes longer than necessary in his collection room, examining the trophies, the slightly weird, moderately weird, and excessively fake trophies. Pictures of mermaids, what might be a fossilized mermaid but was almost certainly a carving, and various other errata.

It was all interesting, but none of it would have made the Wall of Weird.

She glanced up at the fatherly man standing there, smiling gently at her. He was wearing a suit, and had his hands clasped behind his back. His entire demeanor just screamed butler. He didn't even have to open his mouth to assert his authority here.

She wished she could figure out how to do that.

"Alfred, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Indeed, madam."

"I notice there's nothing here on the resident weirdo."

"I beg pardon, madam?" He tilted his head, letting some of that silver hair do his work for him.

"Gotham's own Bat? I would think he would feature prominently."

"Ah." Alfred smiled. "I'm afraid that he's a bit of a villain, and Master Bruce disapproves on principle of villains and those who go around shooting police officers, no matter how corrupt. We did have a small shrine, with a few items, but once the Batman's character became clear to everybody we turned them over to the police, to be used as evidence."

She thought that was a shame. She didn't like killers, but it seemed to her that on the whole the Bat tried very hard not to hurt anybody. There was some evidence he'd only resorted to lethal violence at the very worst of the war.

Still, she could see why a shallow person might toss it aside. "So he just turned with the tide of public opinion?"

There was a protective glint in the butler's eye. She suspected there was steel in that one, which didn't surprise her. People like Bruce swept through life picking up loyal followers and not appreciating them; she knew that. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't quite understand your question," said the butler.

"People turned on the Bat, and your boy was oh-so-willing to take a stand for a Golden-Boy DA, but unwilling to take a stand for a vigilante?"

Alfred bowed his head forward, and for a second she thought he wasn't going to answer her question at all, which would have been a terrible shame. When he did speak, his voice was a little too tight. "Master Bruce lost both his parents at a young age to a gun-man, as you must surely know. His views on firearms are quite, quite stark."

"Yours aren't quite so?" she asked lightly, trying to cover up her dismay. She'd known that. She'd KNOWN! And still she'd mocked the man to his butler, not realizing there was trauma there, not just inbreeding and a spoiled little boy.

No, it made sense. A boy who lost everything, running out and seeking thrills and pretty girls to fill a void in his heart. It made terrible sense, and suddenly she felt sorry for Bruce Wayne, looking in all the wrong places for the wrong things.

Alfred shrugged slightly. "I like to think I have a more balanced view of the Batman than Master Wayne does."

It had taken her a moment, but now she saw it. There was doublespeak in what the butler was saying. It sounded like he was saying he liked the Batman more, but he hadn't said that, had he? Only that it was balanced.

Which could mean anything.

So she smiled. This man was a closed door, with no obvious tells. "I'll show myself out," she said.

It was a nice mansion. Newly refurbished, she'd heard, which was nice. But it was also a bit plastic for her taste. Prepackaged wealth. She had heard he had burned it down in a drunken rage. Now she felt some sympathy as well. Trying to hold on to and get away from his parents memories, all at the same time?

Anyway, she was here on business.

5.

Finding the Batman was easier than taking a walk. In fact, it was by her car again. She wondered if he had planted a tracking device on it last time.

This time he was wearing his costume, with the ears, and in person it was so much more dangerous looking than the YouTube videos made it seem.

"Miss Sullivan. Never one to listen to advice, I see," he growled at her.

She locked her hand around the mace, and stared at those barely-visible glints of light in the cowl that might have been his eyes. She had no idea if she could hit him, or if the mace would even slow him down. Given that he was probably some sort of metahuman, probably not. She hoped he wasn't as angry as he sounded. "Well, it just seemed like the place to be," she said lamely. Now that she knew what she was facing it was harder not to freak out.

He nodded. "It seems I've underestimated you. You certainly aren't working for the mob, are you? No, word is there's a small price on your head. Certainly not a sign you're getting on with them." His throaty growl was intimidating and deadly. And that costume… up close, it definitely wasn't just a cloth mesh. It was armor. That was … fascinating. And yet she'd seen him move very fast in it; how much protection could it provide?

"Well, if I'd known I was being threatened by the _Batman_… aren't you afraid to show your face around here?"

He didn't shrug, but she got the distinct impression he almost had. His lips twitched, and it was almost a smile. As if to ask the silent question, who's going to attack me here? Who stands a prayer against me? Could they really arrest me, or shoot me? "Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working for anybody," she said brusquely. "If you'd really done your homework you wouldn't even have to ask."

"The timing seems suspect," he replied. "If I find out you have anything to do with _them_, we'll have problems."

She kept her eyes riveted on him. "Them? Them who? What are you talking about? Why were you in Smallville?"

His voice sent shivers up her spine—the good kind, and the bad kind. "After them. Why were _you_ in Smallville?"

Her eyes narrow. "I was after a story. Being a reporter, that's what I do."

"Miss Sullivan, if you're hiding anything, I will find it," he rasped, and for a second all her blood ran cold. The way he said it, standing there in all that, the tone of voice… it actually scared her. For a minute every secret she had, every secret Clark had, they all ran together in one very vulnerable stream in her mind.

And the Bat, when he said he'd do something, she believed it. Believed it like she believed it when Clark said he'd do something. The man was beyond dangerous, suddenly.

And then he was gone, ducking behind her car and sliding out the window. She knew they were three stories up, with five more above them, so she didn't think he jumped down. But when she ran over and looked, he was gone.

"I guess he really can fly," she muttered.

6.

It took her a while to find out who _they_ were. When she found the reports, she understood. Reports of super-powered baddies tearing up the town, folks who could throw cars and withstand hails of bullets.

There was a Smallville connection, of course. They were rejects from the Smallville pool, smalltimers Clark must have beaten. That was why Batman was in Smallville, researching it, no doubt.

And that was why he was suspicious of her. If he knew she had reported on the freaks in the past he may have thought she was connected.

She called Clark.

"Clark? It's Chloe. Yeah, I'm in Gotham City. Can you come visit? Oh, I just found out there's some old friends in town. Yeah, that kind of friend."

He said he'd be out as soon as he could get free of whatever he was doing, which probably meant stomping some Smallville or Metropolis beastie into the ground.

In the meantime, it was time to research the Bat a little more thoroughly. She started with Jim Gordon, the fast-rising policeman who had helped turn this city around. An honest cop, by all accounts, and a loyal one.

Getting an appointment was easy. As new commissioner, Gordon was having to talk to the press a lot. She didn't even have to say what the interview was about, although she was sure he already knew. Everybody was after the Bat.

She smiled and sat down across the huge desk from the Commissioner, a slight man with a mustache and guarded eyes. "So, the official story is that Batman killed a bunch of dirty cops and dirtier lowlifes and… Harvey Dent? What's up with that?"

Gordon smiled, but it was an unhappy smile. "If you've read my report, you probably know the official story."

"Dent sniffed out a dirty cop named Ramirez?" asked Chloe. "That one? And then, fearing for your family's safety, he got her out of there, meets up with you, the Bat shows up and ices him?"

"I've told everybody, it looks like Batman thought Harvey had turned on me, and I don't think he meant to kill him," said Gordon. "You're not listening."

"It's just that usually this guy is so meticulous about not killing."

"You weren't here. You didn't meet the Joker," said Gordon firmly. "If anybody could push a man past that point, to where he's willing to kill, it's him. If anybody could turn a good man into something else, could pervert the best part of a man… Harvey had a gun, and my family. He was trying to protect them, but the Batman didn't know that. And he had just captured the Joker for us. He was wounded."

"So you're still a fan of the Bat?" she asked, interested by this. Everything this man had done, every piece of paperwork, appeared to have been intended to sink the protector of this city.

He sighed. "My orders to all officers are to arrest him on sight. How much of a fan do you think I am?"

"I think you think he's doing it for the right reasons, at least."

He smiled and nodded. "I do. He saved us on more than one occasion, and we're grateful. If he turns himself in, we'll make sure he gets the best possible treatment, and we'll make sure the wheels of justice turn as fast as possible." It was a rote recital. It was the quote she was supposed to publish.

She had no intention of publishing any of this.

"So, he flies, cut through metal with his bare hands… any other special abilities he has?" she asked.

"I, uh, don't really know," he said, looking down and to his right, a sure tell of a lie if ever she had seen one. This man was too honest for a lie like that.

"They say the car he drove was a tank. Ever seen it yourself?"

The corners of his mouth tugged back. A hidden smile? Apparently he had. "I caught a glimpse," he said. And apparently he had been impressed, too.

"And his voice… does it creep you out too?" she asked.

He tilted his head at her. "You've seen that You… YouStream video?" He apparently wasn't very familiar with the web site.

"I have," she said. "It was creepier in person."

That got his attention. He looked at her directly now, questioningly. "I see," he said, glancing to the closed door. "What exactly are you looking for, Miss Sullivan?"

She smiled. His tone of voice had shifted slightly. It was clear that he was prepared to perhaps give her a little more. An introduction like this, one that carried either the approval or disapproval of the Bat, meant something to him.

Time to find out what.

"That surprises you?" she asked. "It surprised me. What do you know about the three freaks tearing up your town?"

He hesitated for a long moment. She could see thoughts cascading in those eyes, thoughts that should have made her a bit nervous. Thoughts about who she was, and what her connection might be. "We don't know much," he said. "We know they seem to have beaten the Batman… for now."

She smirked. That last bit sounded like somebody had a bit of a fan-on for the Dark Knight. "You believe he's an unstoppable force of nature?"

He smiled indulgently at her, like she was a small child with a favorite idea she's trotted out. Like believing Batman can be stopped is like believing in the tooth fairy. "Oh, yes."

7.

Clark had no idea how to handle this city, with its darkness and shadows and never-ending corruption. "Chloe, have you seen the crime rates in this city?" They were both knee-deep in her research, and he was holding a stack of newspapers. Chloe didn't much like these local newspapers—not one of them had the guts to stand up to the powerful men in the city, and that was what a newspaper needed.

She gives him a patented fake-bright look. "Have you seen how they're dipping lately?"

"This maniac, this 'Joker'… insane! Completely insane! Not a freak, no special powers, just completely insane… No rhyme or reason for it, nothing to gain, … Chloe, I don't like this city."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice. We just need to save the city Clark, and we can go. Apparently they have meteor-freaks."

"Those guys won't be easy to stop," he said ruefully. "They're tattooing themselves with kryptonite. One of them—I only met one of them before. He's brought in two new guys. He'll be the weakest; it wears you down. You get less from it. I think. Anyway, their tattoos will weaken me."

She considers this. "And guns are out, right?"

"Right out," he said. "They're just slightly weaker, slightly slower versions of me. The ideal thing to do would be to find out where they're keeping the K-rocks, and cut off their supply. Without new doses, their powers fade away."

"And how do we do that?"

He sighed, pulling himself up to his full height. She hated the martyr look he always got at times like this. "We wait for them to strike again, and I'll follow them. If I hang back, they shouldn't see me."

It was a plan fraught with danger for him. Around these guys he wasn't invulnerable, wasn't strong. Around them he was ever weaker as her, so it made no sense for him to be the one to follow them. If anything he was at more risk. Their presence could cripple him, before any fight even started.

But he would never hear of sending Chloe into the line of fire. He just wasn't capable of a thought like that. Most of the time if she wanted to do something dangerous she had to go behind his back.

So while he went out hunting freaks, she waited by her car, hoping the Bat would show up again.


	2. Chapter 2

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Batman didn't show up. Chloe stood there in her raincoat, staring at the concrete walls of the parking garage, and tapping one heel against her tire, and waited for nearly two hours.

She had wanted to see him again. To see the outlandish outfit that filled her heart with a strange fear, one that she could hardly name, and to hear that strange voice. The mystery surrounding him filled her with unhealthy levels of curiosity.

She wanted to break through this mystery. She wanted to figure him out.

That was probably why he didn't show up. He was apparently a mind-reader too.

So she moved on to the next mystery.

Why was Bruce Wayne moving his company into Smallville? At the same time a group of Smallville monstrosities were attacking Gotham?

The only possible answer was that he had discovered their origins, and planned to try to create his own super-powered army for profit.

That conclusion was grim, and it meant Chloe had more work to do. She needed to dig into Wayne Enterprises and their mysteries, and make sure nothing else went wrong.

2.

She found Bruce Wayne's CEO in the usual place, the boardroom. He was knee-deep in circuitry, trying to put something together. She just stared for a minute, completely non-plussed.

"Can I help you, Ms. Sullivan?" he asked, his voice as smooth as … well, something smoother than her usual metaphors. She suspected she'd need a thesaurus to quantify that voice.

"I just had a few questions," she said. "Don't you have somebody to do that for you?"

"If you really want to put together something you can rely on, it's often best to do it yourself," he replied, glancing up at her with a twinkle in his eye. He seemed so very nice—like somebody's grandfather. She'd heard there was steel beneath that façade.

She moved closer to his desk. His secretary had let Chloe in, so he'd known she was coming in. He'd wanted her to him doing this, then. He was projecting the image of a hands-on CEO—literally. "I'm sure Mister Wayne told you I spoke to him about the Smallville plant," she said. She had spoken to the CEO first, of course, before she'd been let anywhere near Bruce Wayne. They kept him on a short leash.

"Yes, Bruce mentioned it in passing." He smiled warmly as he said it. She wondered how far over her head she was.

"I was just wondering what sort of retooling you're doing," she said. "Specifically around the research and development end."

If he was at all aware of what Lex's research had been into this was a red flag for him. If Lucius Fox was the person she thought he was, a dangerous man with delusions of grandeur who was meddling with forces beyond his control, then very soon somebody would be trying to kill her.

It was only a little bit comforting that he would probably fail.

His smile never wavered. "Oh, we're taking the plant in a completely new direction. We were thinking… new technology in food growth acceleration. We've heard some of the boys in the lab are quite excited about the idea of making some foods harvestable twice a year instead of just once… practically doubling growing. Mister Wayne has always been quite interested in solving world hunger, you know."

There was something sly in the way he said it. Some implication she was missing. Was it something to do with Bruce Wayne? A little inside humor about how little he really had to do with the company? She smiled, as if she got the joke, but suspected from the look on Fox's face that she had missed it.

She didn't like that. "And you aren't keeping any of the old projects around—even the ones that maybe weren't on the books?" she asked sweetly.

He chuckled warmly, as if to say that everything in Wayne Enterprises was strictly by the books. "Now, why do you say that?" he asked. "Is there something going on at Luthercorp?"

As if he didn't know. She wanted to grind her teeth together. "I think if you've read any of my articles on their activities in the town of Smallville you'll find I'm highly critical of their lack of transparency."

He laughed. "That's putting it mildly. All right, Miss Sullivan; any particular black projects you want to make sure I'm not keeping?"

He was very disarming, and at the same time, very smart. It was a terrible mixture. She responded in kind, putting one index finger to her mouth and chewing on the nail just a bit, giving him a wide-eyed innocent look. "Some of the things that went on in there weren't very nice," she said, just as naively as she could. "I'd hate to see your company getting into that sort of thing."

3.

Chloe had thought she was pretty jaded and cynical. This town was pushing her past those limits. A town where an honest politician ended up shot, or worse? She could handle that. A town where an entire subsection on the river was given up for lost? Where all the denizens of the local asylum, most of them criminals brought over there by a crooked bureaucrat, had been set free on the streets?

She'd thought Belle Reeve was a bad idea. This was Belle Reeve with one of the freaks in charge. This was Belle Reeve busted open.

So she sat in her hotel room and waited.

She could handle herself if they sent gunmen after her. If they sent freaks, she always had her Clark-line open. And there was a fair chance that even if they shot her she might just live anyway—although she was never certain if that would work.

After a few hours she decided they weren't going to come to her hotel room. If she wanted to drag them out, she had to go out and give them some bait.

It always made her nervous, doing something stupid so deliberately. But she knew that if she did it, it would pay off. It always did. Sometimes Clark despaired at her, and the way she'd just walk out, into the middle of the most dangerous areas.

But she could do it. She had an ability nobody else had, and even if she couldn't quite depend on it, she knew that it was there. And she had Clark. If she didn't do it, then somebody else would have to. Somebody without her innate ability. Somebody without Clark.

And they would certainly die if things went wrong.

Every case she didn't take all the way was one somebody else could die on. Clark didn't see that, but Chloe did.

There was nobody waiting for her to try to kill her in the streets, either. She walked between her hotel and the distant car park three times before somebody tried to mug her; and it was a truly random mugging, too. They weren't armed, beyond a knife, and she dealt with them summarily.

Which meant a taser to the neck before she got stabbed.

Afterwards, standing over the limp body with her heart racing, the Batman arrived. He swooped down out of the sky, landing beside her in a crouch.

"Waiting for somebody?" he asked acidly.

She flinched back away from him, keeping her hand wrapped around the taser. "Just waiting to see if any corporate goons come running. Why, you worried?"

The corners of his mouth tugged in a smile that wasn't amused at all. "You suspect Wayne Enterprises of wrongdoing? They've been losing millions of dollars trying to save this city; I trust them more than half the police force."

She laughed, just a little too brightly. "Oh, right. Of course. I've met rich kids before, and trust me; they aren't always so nice."

He glowered at her, but didn't say anything about it. "Do you routinely use yourself as bait in your little sting operations? That stungun wouldn't have done much good against a couple of professionals."

"If you say so," she said. Truthfully, the taser and mace weren't terribly effective. Since buying them she'd been kidnapped several times, hit on the head, even shot.

Anybody else would have been dead ten times over from all that she did.

"If you aren't working for the mob, and you're not working for them, … who are you working for?" he asked.

He scared her. Standing there in utilitarian armor that also cloaked him, with a mask that made him into some kind of monster, he looked like every nightmare she'd ever had. He looked like a killer, like the kind of man they'd make a slasher movie out of. The blades on his forearms looked capable of killing.

And she knew he'd killed.

"I'm not working for anybody," she said. "I don't know how to prove that to you. I know you're not working for anybody; you have more enemies than anybody else I know of." Except one, but that was an off-limits conversation for now.

He scowled at her. Or maybe he wasn't scowling; maybe that was just the mask. It was impossible for her to tell. "Would you like to see them?" he asked.

"Them? You mean the guys tearing up the streets?" she said, surprised. "You know where they are?"

"Of course," he said, as if it was truly nothing. And maybe for him it was. "Well?"

She shrugged, suddenly even more scared than she had been before. This hadn't been what she had in mind when she started walking, hoping to scare up some interest from Wayne Enterprises. She'd wanted to see how dirty they were, how scared of a reporter digging up dirt.

Instead she was face to face with the Bat again.

She nodded, trying to keep the fear off her face. "I suppose we can do that."

He stepped closer, extending a hand to her. "If you'll step into my office," he said, just a touch of wit in his words.

For a second she didn't understand the joke; then she took his hand and he pulled her closer, and they were flying upward at terrific speeds. For a second her breath was taken away, and her stomach dropped; but this wasn't her first flight like this.

At the top of their upward arc they paused, suddenly, hanging for a second in mid-air, and then he pulled them both forward, onto the top of the roof.

They'd traveled up nearly twenty stories in a quick blur of motion, and for a second vertigo claimed her senses. She shut her eyes as her head spun.

He was moving forward, keeping a hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid my car is in the shop; we'll have to use the glider."

She'd seen pictures, and calling it a car was an understatement. This thing he called a glider looked a little like a hang-glider, if Mad Max had built it. A tiny rocket the back seemed like the only propulsion, but it was covered in interesting bits she wanted to examine closer.

It was built at angles that reminded her of radar-invisible stealth fighters. There were antennae and what looked like some kind of sensor ball; it was meant to fly above the streets invisibly, listening. Looking.

"Wow, you're carrying this bat motif as far as you can," she said, trying not to sound impressed.

He didn't reply, motioning for her to climb under the wings of the thing first. "Just grab hold of the bar," he said, sliding a harness over her shoulders from behind. For a bare half second she didn't realize they were straps, not hands, and the sinuous inhuman movement freaked her out a bit.

He cinched the straps around her waist and shoulders, and she heard him click into the assembly as well. It was already twilight, and quite dark out, and she wasn't entirely sure how well he could fly in the dark.

"Ready?" he asked. That rough voice behind her, out of sight, sent dual chills down her spine. One for the threat in the voice, and the other because he was hovering there, behind her. She couldn't see him, and could only imagine what he might do.

"Sure," she said.

And he picked up the entire assembly and jumped over the edge of the building.

It was a short flight; they crossed three blocks in the time it would take to start a car, silently flying over the heads of the oblivious people below. Somehow, even in total darkness, he was able to fly between the buildings, twisting and turning just right.

They lit down softly on another roof. They'd spent less than thirty seconds in the glider.

It had been the scariest, most exciting thing she'd ever done. It hadn't felt like being carried; it had felt like she was doing the fly. The wind had screamed across her face, with nothing but the bar to hold on to, her purse flapping at her side. She hoped she hadn't dropped anything.

He clipped her free while she was still frozen, panting with exhilaration. "That was something," she said, unable to express how amazing it had been.

"It gets me around," he growled. This time she could hear the humor there, hidden underneath that angry, inflamed voice.

That voice hid a lot of what he was saying. All the subtext, all the ideas. He was much more intelligent than the thug he sounded like. She suspected he was doing it on purpose, hiding his face and identity with a voice that couldn't be identified or profiled.

She briefly tried to profile him in her mind. He would be like Clark, a stand-up, solid guy, incapable of lying, or too much deception. He'd be terrible at maintaining a double life. He'd be some kind of salt-of-the-earth type, out doing good in his day job.

His equipment was good, though. He had to have access to money. In her experience, rich people seldom did good with their money; she presumed he'd be on the ground floor of some large lab somewhere. Weapons development, probably.

And he might be one of those weapons they were developing. That was probably it; the product of a failed or nearly failed supersoldier program, out there helping people to prevent the people who had screwed him from harming others.

From the way he had spoken up for Wayne Enterprises, she assumed they weren't the culprits. That meant there was some other player in town. She made a mental note to track them down later.

He walked to the edge of the roof, that cape flowing behind him. Masking his form and making him less human. "There's a warehouse, over there," he said. "They hide there during the day, and come out at night." He sounded personally offended—as if the night was his domain, and they were intruders.

"If you know where they are," she said, starting to wonder about his abilities.

"They're not there now. Want to go down and see what they've done so far?"

Her heart hammered in her chest when he offered her his hand again. "Uh, can we think about this?"

His fingers wrapped around her wrist in a powerful grip, and he pulled her closer, wrapping one around her waist and lifting her up. Then he stepped forward, off the edge.

This time she was paying closer attention, and she saw the grapplegun fire. This time she saw the thin cord that held them as they descended quickly, and she felt the brakes on it slow them before they hit the pavement.

She was a little disappointed to discover he couldn't fly, after all.

He let go of her and she staggered a step, following him as he marched inside the warehouse.

"So they're out busting stuff up?" she asked, following him to the halfway open door.

"They're out meeting with ganglords and mafia bosses," he growled. "Selling their services to the highest bidder. Now that they've beat me in front of the cameras, everybody wants their protection against me."

His interest in the case made even more sense, suddenly. "They beat you, and it lowers your street cred—makes you seem vulnerable. You need to show them you still own the streets, is that it?"

"Yes."

"I don't suppose taking away their skills and letting them vanish into obscurity would work for you, then?"

He turned to stare at her. "You can do that?"

She shrugged, giving him a tight-lipped smile. Now the cape was on the other foot… or something like that. "Hey, I live to serve, big guy. Shall we take a look?"

The warehouse was big, and mostly empty. There was a table in the middle of the room covered with meteor rocks; the biggest stash she'd ever seen.

Her stomach dropped, and she glanced at him. He looked nonplussed.

"They stole the rocks from the bank," he said. "They were all in a safety deposit box. That was their first heist. Luthercorp has been hiring mercenaries to try to get the rocks back. Why?"

She shook her head, desperate not to let him know the worth of these rocks. Not to let him know the dangers here. If this man knew too much it could be a major problem very quickly. "Who can know what people like this want? If they want it, though, maybe we should just take it from them."

He watched her carefully from behind the mask. His face gave away nothing. "Something you aren't telling me?" he asked, his raspy voice cutting past her defenses. She shuddered in spite of herself.

"No—no!" she said quickly, desperately.

He picked up on it, of course, and frowned at her. "All right, then," he said, letting the matter lie for a second. "Load that all in bags; I'll check the rest of the warehouse."

She felt her skin tingling at the proximity of so many meteor rocks. It was probably her imagination, but she could feel the radiation pouring off them. Radiation that could do strange things to the human body.

To her body.

She also knew there was a fair amount of frying of the brain involved. Or maybe that was just human nature, to always misuse power. With one notable exception… but even he'd gone through a lot and endured endless temptations to misuse that power.

That made her even more curious about this Batman. She had to find a way to peer through his mask, to figure him out. If he was another Clark, out to fix this city, that was fine. But there were a lot of other reasons to do something like this. Less noble reasons.

For starters, if he was in cahoots with one mob or another and was only taking their rivals out, that was problematic. Worse, if he was as dangerous as he seemed—a real killer—then Clark wouldn't be inclined to leave well enough alone. He'd want to stop him, lecture him on morality and duty.

And Chloe had seen this town. This was a lot darker than anything out of Smallville or Metropolis—there was no room for a champion of light here. No room for a man to try to provide a good example. Harvey Dent had tried that, and the city had killed him.

Actually, he'd gone down fighting, and the Batman had killed him. Chloe shuddered, glancing after the Bat while trying to fit all the rocks in one over-sized garbage bag.

A supply of meteor rocks like this would keep these thugs in business a very long time. Worse, the radiation from this pile would be enough to keep Clark out of this warehouse.

The Batman returned. Despite all the armor, the heavy cape, and the way he filled a room he was able to walk silently across the floor. She couldn't help staring at him, wondering just what kind of man would armor himself like that and go out to face the streets of Gotham again and again.

On a less impressive man the outfit would be a sad cry for attention. A cape, after all, was hardly the height of fashion.

On him it was a warning. Colorful plumage to let you know his bite was poisonous. Or, actually, not so very colorful at all.

"It's a symbol," he said, his harsh voice dragging her out of her reverie.

"What?" she said blankly.

"The costume. A symbol of fear. Darkness and shadows. It used to be the good people of Gotham were afraid; now the criminals are afraid. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "It's a brutal, near-fascist symbol. You've set yourself up as judge, jury, and in some cases, executioner. The police have declared you an outlaw; ordinary people are as scared of you as the criminals are!"

He actually did shrug this time. "They don't understand the stakes. I'd rather use fear and save lives than play by the rules and watch people die."

It was a lot to tell her. More than he should have, perhaps. It was clear to her, by now, that he was trying to build some bridges—confiding a little in her in hopes of learning more about what she knew. She had no plans of giving him any real quid pro quo—the secrets she kept were too valuable.

But she had to pretend. She put her hands on her hips. "Look, I don't like it, but I can tell you're trying to do the right thing. Even the police can see that. I can tell you a little bit. These guys, they're some kind of supersoldier that Luthercorp was building. Apparently it doesn't really work, it wears off—you ever hear of a company doing something like that?"

She hoped he would be surprised, that it would show on his face. That she could tell if that was what he was, where he was from.

His face showed nothing. He might as well have been dead. "Perhaps we should leave," he said.

The doors swung wide open, and all the lights came on at once. For a second, in the bright glare of light shining down on them, she could see the Batman's pupils, and reflected there she saw something that made her heart stop. Something familiar, something human.

The last thing on earth she was expecting from him.

It was the look Clark got when she saw a damsel in distress. The look she knew far too well, having been that damsel in distress much more often than she would have liked.

Clark wouldn't like this guy. She knew that firmly, deep inside. Batman relied on fear, and was all too willing to take the law into his own hands. Clark believed people could be inspired to do good. If he were a symbol, it would be the opposite of this black-clad avenger. He would be wrapped from head to toe in something bright and colorful; he would show his face. He would show people there was no cause for fear.

But deeper down, past their methods, they were more alike than Chloe had realized.

The Bat spun around, facing the rear entrance. Three muscle-bound freaks stood there, green tattoos adorning their arms. The one in the middle was up to full sleeves, and he looked angry.

None of them looked at all familiar to Chloe. They were from the old, old days, before she even knew Clark's secret.

The leader had a hard face. "I thought we were all done with flying rodents. Get him, boys."

Chloe had half a mind to point out that bats weren't actually rodents, but the pseudo-supermen charging across the floor made her hesitate.

Batman didn't. He turned, grabbing Chloe by the arm, and pushed something into her hand. "It's parked around the corner. Go!" he growled, then turned, the cape billowing out, and jumped forward, meeting them halfway.

For a second she just stood, transfixed. Each one of those men had the power to break any normal man in half with a single blow. Before today she'd been sure the Bat had the powers to take them on, but now she'd seen some of the trickery that went into maintaining that façade.

She wasn't sure who was more surprised when Batman met their first charge, avoiding their blows with quick twisting movements, and used some form of kung fu to turn their charge aside. He was a flurry of elbows and knees, quick street-fighting movements that Chloe knew wasn't any of the usual fighting styles. She had studied some of them as part of trying to lose the 'side-kick' title (unsuccessfully, at that).

And she knew a master of the craft when she saw them.

He moved like a seasoned pro. Like the most dangerous man she'd ever seen in motion. Even wearing that armor his movements were free and loose, and he was more than a match for any normal three men.

Even against these, he was winning.

Then one of them managed to land a lucky blow. It picked him off his feet, sending him sailing through the air. His cloak stiffened suddenly, catching the air and knocking up dust all through the warehouse. It acted as a parachute, snapping out into a giant bat shape and slowing him down. He landed in a crouch.

That was when Chloe remembered she was supposed to be running.


	3. Chapter 3

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Bruce saw the plucky reporter turn and run, finally, and almost let out a sigh of relief.

She was one of the stupidest people he'd ever met. She stood up to him while he wore the outfit, she had clearly been using herself as bait earlier to find out who her enemies were, and she just stood and watched while these three men walked up.

She had either little or no survival instinct. He was beginning to regret the trail of breadcrumbs that had led her to his city.

He stepped forward again, grabbing one of the thugs by the shoulders and using him as leverage to execute a near-perfect kick at the head of the next one.

He knew from his last fight with them that they could take an absurd amount of damage. He'd driven a car over one of them without even fazing them.

And they hit harder than a locomotive.

He just needed to keep them off balance long enough to give her time to find the unmarked black SUV he'd left near the building. It was one of his new surveillance cars, vehicles he left parked over the city with sensor bundles under the hood.

Expensive, but sometimes it paid off. Like finding this hideout.

Against these guys he didn't hold back anything. He drew one of his news toys out of the utility belt, slamming it into the face of the thug reaching for him. He kept moving, flowing and chopping through the middle of them.

He had to be untouchable; they hit too hard for any mistakes.

Then he dropped his toy, using the grapple-gun to hook the ceiling and pulling himself out of their reach. At the mid-point of his arc he hit the release, dropping towards the window and tucking himself into a ball.

Behind him the sonic grenade went off. Inside his mask he was wearing a filtering ear-piece, one designed to minimize the noise of the blast. It still nearly stunned him, and he froze up a bit as he hit the window, causing him to hit it poorly. He felt his shoulder give as he crashed through the glass.

He hoped it had been enough to at least slow down the Trio.

2.

Chloe hit the street running, glancing down at the keychain in her hand. There was a remote on it, and she hit the red button quickly. A black SUV's headlights flashed, and she turned, heading for it.

She was wearing flat shoes, since she'd expected to have to run as part of her last plan. Sensible shoes she could run in. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

There was some kind of explosion, and a sound so loud it knocked her down onto her knees. For a second she stayed there, panting for breath.

It had sounded big, and close. She struggled back to her feet and managed to get to the SUV. She swung the front door open and climbed in.

She didn't wait for the local vigilante. He could scale the roof in a quick motion, and could fly away on his strange little stealth glider. She started the SUV and drove away quickly.

She was disoriented, this being a strange town, but she wasn't about to stop for directions.

While she was driving she opened the glove compartment and checked the registration. She doubted the Bat was stupid enough to give her the keys to a car registered in his name, but it was worth a try.

It was registered to a John Smith. She smiled, putting it back carefully. Unmarked cars parked around town; silent gliders swooping over the city; he was going to a lot of trouble to stay on top of the situation.

She headed back for her hotel.

3.

Bruce knew the glider was too visible, even in the dark. His enemies could track it. That was always a concern. Ever since his first disastrous run in the tumbler—now called the 'Batmobile' by the Channel 2 news staff, much to his chagrin—he had been all too aware that he needed to be able to disappear.

That was one of the reasons he'd liked the idea of a hiding place in the city, someplace he could vanish into and wait for the dust to settle before going back to the mansion.

But right now he was injured, and it was worse than he'd initially thought. He needed Alfred's help, and soon. His dislocated shoulder was swelling up, and if they didn't get it back in the socket soon he'd need a doctor.

And that meant fabricating a story about Bruce Wayne sky-diving, or playing polo. Or maybe trying to ice-skate with one of the Olympic figure skaters; that might fly.

So he switched vehicles as soon as he could dock the glider in one of the secured bays in the northeast parking garage. The wings folded back so it took no more space than a stretch limo, and the bays had locking mechanisms.

Once it was docked he took the new Batmobile. (God, he hated that name so much…) One that combined the strengths of the tumbler with a much smaller vehicle, one with sliding plates of armor that could transform itself into a minivan in less than a minute, so that if he was running from the police he could hide in a corner and then drive away in a completely different vehicle.

It was ingenious. It didn't quite work right yet, but Lucius was doing the concept work. He insisted on doing all this work by hand, well aware that they could easily end up with another employee figuring out what they were doing if they allowed too much transparency in the company.

And they hadn't finished mopping up that last fiasco.

It took him longer than usual to get to the mansion. The new cave was a lot more like a military operation than a cave under the mansion, and he liked it that way. He called Alfred up, using his cell phone. "I'm coming home early, Alfred," he said. "A little trouble with my date, I'm afraid."

He didn't say anything more. He was all too aware that his cell phone was monitored by quite a few people these days. Not just his; a lot of attention was being given to Gotham City by many people. Most of them trying to figure out his identity.

Alfred was waiting for him in the cave, the medical kit open. "Let's get you out of that suit, sir," he said, sounding vaguely horrified.

"She knows, Alfred," said Bruce, climbing out and beginning to undo the tiny latches holding the armor together one-handed.

"She knows?"

"No, not that. About these three. She knows how they do it, and she knows how to stop them. She doesn't trust me enough to tell me everything, but I think we can… agh!" Trying to take off the chest-plate had caused him to move his shoulder, and that was a mistake.

Alfred helped him peel the rest of his armor off. "I see. Let's try to get that put back together, shall we?"

He grabbed Bruce's shoulder, and for one fiery second the whole world was pain. Bruce gasped, both hands clenching down into fists. He wouldn't scream; he wouldn't show weakness. Not even here, in this cave, surrounded by the best security systems in the world.

Not for these three small-minded thugs who had no idea how very big their discovery was, how much they might do.

If somebody like the Joker couldn't break him, then they certainly wouldn't make him cry out in pain.

He gritted his teeth while Alfred wrapped it up in bandages. "If I may say so, sir," said the butler, sounding terribly worried. He was working himself up to another lecture, or perhaps just a nugget of wisdom. Either way, Bruce didn't have time.

"Save it, Alfred. First I need to find out what she's up to now."

4.

Chloe switched cars and drove back to Smallville in one long trip. It was almost twelve hours straight of driving, stopping only for food, coffee, and bathroom breaks. But she needed to get back there right away.

She needed to bury the meteor rocks somewhere safe.

They had been gathering them for some time, buried underneath a lead apron from the local dentist's office. Some day they would have to find a more permanent solution, but right now just burying them made the most sense.

It took another three hours of digging before she got rid of them. After that she broke into the farmhouse and took a shower, then called Clark.

He was concerned about the size of the stash, but he was also busy with his latest explosive mess. He and Lois had a way of getting into trouble that even Chloe was hard-pressed to match. Some days she felt just the tiniest bit of envy for her cousin, who so easily slipped into Clark's life.

Still, she was glad Clark was embroiled in something bigger. She didn't want him running back to Gotham City and facing the Trio until she was certain they were depowered. And she didn't want him stopping Batman.

Gotham needed somebody a little darker than Clark was willing to be.

So she told him she'd taken their rocks away, but didn't tell him she wasn't sure whether they had any more. And she told him she was just going to wrap up some loose ends. She knew that he would be suspicious, that he would catch up eventually. But she also knew that she would have a little bit of time to try to figure this out on her own.

Giving her another chance to break the Bat's secrets.

5.

Bruce lived in a rational world. A world where men couldn't break the laws of nature. That was just an illusion he projected. He was a master of this pretence.

The Trio wasn't pretending.

He was wearing a heavy dinner jacket, one that could hide the bandages he was wearing underneath. There were guests in his house, as usual, and he kept moving between them, trying to greet everybody. Once everybody had seen him he might have a chance to duck away and check the news feeds, see if the Trio was out again tonight.

He had known that there were people trying to jumpstart human evolution, build human weapons. But that sort of thing was lightyears away, even with the best technology.

He knew; the best technology was his.

However, there was something in Smallville. Perhaps from the Luthercorp plant there; the one Lucius had warned him might have hidden some very dangerous experiments. Luthercorp was one of those companies that specialized first and foremost in defense contracts, in trying to kill people.

Bruce remained firmly unimpressed by them.

There was a production plant in Smallville, ostensibly for fertilizer. And there was a huge amount of unexplained phenomena. If the two were unrelated then Bruce was the Queen of England.

But he didn't have time to hunt that connection down. Not while the city was being torn apart by these thugs. If he couldn't get Chloe Sullivan to help him, then he'd be back to square one.

Building some kind of weapon that would pierce even their armored hides.

That idea made him terribly uncomfortable. Anything powerful enough to slow them down would be a weapon capable of killing a normal person. He didn't need or want one of those in his arsenal.

He greeted the mayor with a frozen smile, moving on. Why did there always seem to be social functions in the middle of the most important crisis's the city faced? Didn't these people realize they were fiddling while Rome was burning? True, he had put out the invitations. And it was for some charity or other—they were practicing making Bruce Wayne look a little less worthless by having him toss some money out to charities for the opulent extravaganzas he was holding.

Not because Bruce minded the looks that followed him; because Alfred insisted that his father's name needed a bit of tending to, and they should at least make it look like he was a good-hearted scoundrel.

When he'd crossed the room he stepped into one of the adjoining hallways, opening up his cell phone and checking the messages he was getting fed to him from the computer. Each one was a headline from a local news site. 'Trio still at large.' 'Police under siege.'

Nothing about a specific attack tonight. Alfred was supposed to signal him in that event, anyway.

He stepped through another door into one of the kitchens, putting down the half-empty champagne glass he'd been pretending to drink out of all night. There was a console hidden behind one of the wooden panels, and he checked that for some details on the stories out right now.

He'd put several such consoles in strategic places when rebuilding. The new mansion was as close to the old mansion as possible, except with walls stuffed to overflowing with electronics. Everything was hollow, now, making the whole place his playground.

His phone vibrated, and he flipped it open. "Yes?" he said.

Lucius was on the other end. "Bruce, we have a problem. That nosey reporter is going over all your acquisitions from Luthercorp."

"But we did that all on the up and up," protested Bruce, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching.

"Yes, we did. It was after that I stuffed a bunch of stuff between the cracks, using the size of the merger to hide the details of your new cars and aircraft. I hid it pretty well, but she's _inquisitive._"

Bruce sighed. "I'll see if I can't distract her."

"Good." The entire conversation could have been misconstrued by a listener to be another millionaire covering the cost of his expensive cars and airplanes with company money. At least, that was their intention.

Somebody who had seen his new aircraft up close might figure that out, though. He made a note to be even more guarded than usual around Chloe Sullivan.

Alfred walked into the room. "There you are. Our guests are missing you, sir."

Bruce nodded. "I'll be right back in. Just checking the feeds."

"And how were the fireworks, sir?" asked Alfred, glancing back over his own shoulder. "Did they make as big a bang as we'd hoped?"

"Not really." Bruce managed to smile. "I guess they must not be very good listeners." The Trio had armored exteriors—but apparently vulnerable bits like the eardrums were also well-armored as well. Which, given that they could hear people talking at normal levels, was odd. Another violation of the laws of physics.

"I do have one concern, sir," said Alfred. "If what Miss Sullivan said is correct—if somebody did this—then there are a lot more of them out there."

It was awfully unguarded to say that outright, but Bruce supposed they were relatively secure here. "I understand."

"I'm worried you might be thinking of doing something… drastic. To even the odds," said Alfred, keeping his voice carefully level.

Bruce smiled indulgently. "Now, Alfred. When have you known me to be so stupid as that?"

Alfred sighed. "Yes, sir. Every day, sir. Shall we go back to the party?"

6.

There was something terrible about the sight of the city from a distance. From here, driving in, Chloe couldn't see the rot and decay she knew was so obvious up close. She could see Wayne towers, rising up out of the middle of the city. She could see the now-unused elevated train. (another thing Batman had destroyed)

But she knew that the closer she got, the worse this place would look. Up close there was no hiding the sheer desperation on the faces. Up close you could see how poor the city was, how wretched. How filled with crime.

She wanted to be like Clark, to believe the best about people. To believe that a symbol of hope could inspire the people of Gotham; that an unmasked hero could bring out the good people.

But she had spent too long finding out the hard truths in life. She couldn't blind herself to the state of this city, or to the Batman's successes. She seriously doubted Clark would be giving this one an invitation to his group of heroes on their next organized 'outing.' He wasn't like them.

He was different in ways that would scare them all. Most of them were darker than Clark, but not this dark.

She went back to her hotel room. The package she'd ordered was waiting for her there, and she opened it up cautiously.

It was a box full of paperwork. She couldn't exactly unravel Wayne Enterprises' entire corporate structure, but she could at least open this up and begin going over the acquisition of the Smallville plant.

She settled down with a cup of coffee and all the paperwork, and wondered if she was going to go blind from all this reading.

7.

Bruce wasn't entirely sure how to distract this reporter. Most of the reporters in Gotham were in the pocket of gangsters, and he knew how to deal with them. The honest ones were mostly on his side, and would have just done whatever he asked without questioning it.

With Chloe Sullivan, the direct approach wasn't going to work.

She was also completely immune to whatever charms he put into play as Bruce Wayne. She knew that face was fake, that it was just a mask. She didn't see what was underneath it, not yet. And he needed to make sure she never would.

So he put on the cowl, which hid his face yet showed his soul much more clearly. He took the glider out.

The glider was a good idea. Something invisible and silent, up in the sky. Above the street he could see for miles, could travel quickly. It was nearly impossible for anybody to figure out his movements while he had it.

He needed something a little better, though. This was too vulnerable to the weather, to wind patterns. He needed something equally silent with more armor, more power, and more sensors.

But that would have to wait for another day.

For now he took up a watching position outside her hotel room. He hated doing this; he felt like a deranged stalker. But he had to keep an eye on her, and find out what she was up to.

She had the curtains drawn, which helped her a little bit. He was able to use some of his fancy toys to get a bug set on her window, listening to what she was doing, and then he rappelled down the side of the building and drilled a tiny hole in the window's frame while she was in the bathroom, sticking a mini-cam through the hole.

Climbing was painful right now, so he returned to the rooftop and leaned against the wall, watching the grainy feed carefully. She was sitting in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by papers he assumed were the purchase agreements from the Smallville plant.

She was hunched over, a tiny ball of energy sipping at a tall coffee. He wished he'd thought to bring some coffee. Of course, that always led to the problem of trying to use a bathroom while in the getup. And that was just awkward at the best of times.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for. That moment she went 'aha' and went after Lucius for skimming money away into non-existent enterprises? Perhaps just to see if she was getting anywhere? And what would he do?

He wasn't used to being in a situation where his muscles and brains were equally worthless. He had honed himself to the pinnacle of human possibility. He pushed himself harder than an Olympic athlete. During the Joker crisis he'd pushed himself farther than he had ever imagined a human being could be pushed—past losing Rachel, past Dent's descent into madness. He had pushed on.

The thought of Rachel sent a shudder up his spine. He carefully set that thought aside. He'd come back to it later, when he had time. Right now he was working.

He hated that about himself. He'd needed to be able to work through the grief, so he had learned to push aside momentary weakness. Now he found himself doing that all the time, pushing any thought or emotion aside for the moment. He felt cold and ruthless.

That hadn't been the plan.

Then the hotel door was kicked down, and a man dressed entirely in black, with a ski mask on, burst into the room, a gun with silencer on it out. He grabbed Chloe, dragging her out of the room and away.

Bruce swung into motion without a thought for his wounded arm. He jumped up, over the edge of the roof, freefalling down towards the street. The wind whistled past him, and for a second all he could see was the ground rushing up at him.

Then the grapple caught, catching him. The suit was designed to spread the impact load out across his entire torso, preventing him from cutting himself in half with a quick stop, but it still jarred him.

The impact sent white-hot pain shooting through his shoulder like lightning. He ignored the pain, aiming for her window.

He crashed through, both arms up in front of his face, guarding his most vulnerable area.

It occurred to him briefly that in his entire black-on-black costume the face was the only splash of color; he'd noticed that in gun battles his opponents tended to aim towards his face. Or his belt. He wondered if there was some way to incorporate a splash of color in the very center of his chest plate—something to draw the eye, and subsequently any bullets aimed at him.

He set that thought aside for later, pulling himself to his feet and running forward, into the hall.

They had made it to the elevators. There were two of them, both wearing all black, they had pushed her into the elevator, and both were facing her, concentrating on her.

He was too far away to effectively cross the distance before the doors to the elevator would close. So he settled for using his grapple-gun in a manner other than intended; he aimed for a leg and fired.

The projectile was intended to find and grasp a hard, concrete surface without leaving a mark. It cut right through the bad guy's leg, causing him to scream in pain.

Bruce pulled him back, out of the elevator and into the hall with one quick yank. The thug came flying out, clawing at the air.

The doors closed slowly, and Bruce could see the look of terror on Chloe's face. For a second anger pulsed stronger through him, the memory of Rachel being kidnapped and taken to her doom flashing through his mind and filling him with a desperate sense of déjà vu.

He crossed the hallway with quick strides, grabbing her attacker and lifting him, slamming him against the wall and tearing the mask off.

It wasn't one of the Trio. Bruce was confused for a second. "Where are you taking her?" he growled, stalling for time. The elevator hadn't stopped yet, and he needed to see if it went down below the lobby to the car park level.

The thug was baffled by this. "Uh, I don't, I don't know… It was, it was Eddie! Eddie said to grab her!"

The elevator stopped in the car park. Batman tossed the thug aside, heading back to Chloe's apartment. He stopped long enough to gather all her research and bundle it quickly into his belt. Then he hopped up onto the windowsill, looking down.

He had a clear view from here of the entrance to the parking garage. He waited for half a second, then jumped out the window.

He deployed the cloak in the third configuration; parachute. The different configurations were a recent development. After nearly dying (and nearly killing Rachel) during their fall from the Wayne towers penthouse, he had realized that the cape needed to be able to do more than glide through open air. That configuration had barely slowed them down, and he'd broken two grapple lines trying to make the catch with that much weight on board.

So he'd programmed more settings into the memory cloth, depending what voltage went into the cloth. This was more expensive than the first cape, but it enabled him to fall almost straight down, which was handy in these city streets where he might not have the room for a glide path.

It also gave him more accuracy in trying to land on or near a car pulling out of a car park.

They began to pull out while he was still in the air. He pulled a device very similar to the grapple gun out, aimed, and fired.

It was a small GPS tracer on a dart. It hit the car, near the trunk, and with any luck sounded enough like a gunshot that they didn't realize they'd been tagged. They accelerated, assuming they were being shot at, speeding off into traffic.

He switched to a glide and flew into the side of the building nearest him, catching himself the fire escape, then used the grapple gun to get back to the roof and the glider. "Alfred, I need an assist," he said, using the scrambled radio transmitter. "Give me an update on tracer one."

The information began streaming onto his heads-up display on the glider. He strapped himself in quickly, and launched.

If it wasn't the Trio grabbing her, then why would anybody be after her? He ground his teeth together, trying not to overreact. This felt too much like the Joker crisis; not knowing who was doing what, or why they were doing it.

It made him very unhappy.

People tended to get hurt when he was unhappy.


	4. Chapter 4

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Chloe saw this as a very big success.

Sure, getting kidnapped was never fun; and there might be torture, and the decision to have her killed. But somehow, somewhere, she'd let somebody know she was looking at them too hard and they were going to try to cover their tracks.

Probably Wayne Enterprises.

She'd seen Batman; he'd been watching her, and when they tried to take her he had come after her. That meant she had two vigilantes looking for her, which meant twice the odds she'd get out of this alive.

Still not great odds. But these people had made several mistakes, and they'd even lost a man. That was working in her favor.

She tried not to think about the odds, instead concentrating on her surroundings. They'd tossed her in the back seat instead of the trunk, which meant they weren't worried about her seeing where they were going. Bad sign.

It was an older car, and the back seat was full of fast food wrappers and other assorted detritus. There was a funky smell in the air.

The driver was sweating.

"Wasn't supposed to be any Batman," he growled.

The passenger shook his head. "Just relax, Tom. Breath deep, let the adrenalin settle. Eddie will handle this. That's what we're paying him for, right? Besides, the big bat was just getting involved a little bit ahead of schedule, that's all."

They drove on.

2.

They took her to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The men waiting for her were all thugs, and not one of them appeared to be the brains of the operation. They searched her quickly, then stood there and waited.

The driver was getting more and more nervous. "What are we waiting for?" he complained.

"Relax, Tom," said the man who'd been in the passenger seat. He was a skinny little guy, with a grin on his face. He appeared to be enjoying the wait. "Eddie always takes care of our problems, doesn't he?"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Tom. "You weren't there. I've seen the Bat! Where was Eddie when the Bat took out Falcone, or Maroni?"

The man from the passenger seat sighed. "Always quibbling details. That's your problem, and you'll get killed, you keep on quibbling like that. Quibble, quibble, quibble. Does anybody know what that word actually means?"

Chloe could tell they were waiting for something, but wasn't sure what, exactly. Their boss? Some kind of signal?

Then the man from the passenger seat giggled. "I've never looked to Eddie to solve my problems; but, then again, I was always relatively sane before this." He glanced over at Chloe. "I didn't used to believe in flying men and monsters, and I certainly never believed I was a god. Now things are… more complicated."

Chloe examined his face carefully. There was madness in those eyes, a look she'd seen on many different occasions. A look that bespoke terrible things.

Chloe's heart sped up. Something was terribly wrong, now. Something that she should have picked up on before now.

The man who'd been sitting in front of her moved closer. "You see, Miss Sullivan—if that's really your name—we have a problem, here in the city. A problem you don't often get. An infestation, really. We've hired professional exterminators, to no avail. My professional opinion? Get a good psychotherapist and do regression therapy. Extreme, I know, but I'm afraid we're beyond electric shock. Or even fear therapy, my personal favorite. He's proved, hm, resistant to fear therapy. I wonder… how scared are you, right now?"

She didn't answer.

He continued gleefully. "I'm sure we could work some more fear in there. Anyway, we have this infestation. What would a rational person do? Hire somebody who appears to be stronger than the Bat, somebody crazier? I don't think so. Not even an insane man would want another Joker fiasco. This time we're relying on people we know and trust—well, maybe not people we trust."

The driver shook his head. "Shut up, shut up!" he whispered. "You know Eddie doesn't like talkers!"

The man in front of her shrugged. He was good-looking—almost ridiculously so. His eyes were a bright, bright blue, and they almost shone as he spoke. "See, Falcone, Maroni—the family is losing bosses faster and faster, aren't they? They had small minds. They didn't see. I saw, but I've had some losses against the Bat."

There was a slithering sound above them. Chloe was fairly certain that her rescue was near, but she wanted to hear the conclusion to this insanity. "So Eddie's the best and brightest?"

"No. Eddie's meticulous." The blue-eyed devil smiled broadly. "He gets all the details right, and that's important. Like you; bait, to bring a Bat to earth. I wonder—do you think he realized? Do you? That this is all a great big bat-catching trap?"

There was a snapping noise, and the roof above them seemed to shimmer. A million tight cords descended suddenly from the ceiling, grabbing hold of Batman, who was perched on an I-beam over their head.

The impact hurled him to the floor.

Chloe continued to stare into those blue eyes, unable to look away. "How did you know…?"

"Because we've been watching the three goons who beat him, of course," said the maniac. "After that we followed you home, because let's be honest… you're a very interesting person. Whatever your name is. You wouldn't register at a hotel using your real name, would you? And we followed you back from there."

Chloe cursed herself inwardly. She'd led them straight to the Kent farm; that was a problem.

She could hear the Batman struggling with the assembled thugs. She was sure he was more than a match for them, but they appeared to be armed specially to stop him.

"My name is Crane. Doctor Jonathan Crane," he said, extending a hand to her. "Formerly head psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum."

That name was more than familiar. In her very first bit of research she'd found out all about his misuse of the Asylum, and his nightmarish experiments on the inmates. His toxin, which had been let loose in the city, which had only been alleviated by the mass production by Wayne Enterprises. And then, later, after his fall from grace, his continued work as a drug dealer, using his position to spike his drugs and continue his experiments from the streets.

She'd found it suspicious how fast Wayne Enterprises had reverse engineered his toxin, and suspected a connection between Crane and Wayne.

Now she was face to face with somebody who had been unstable before getting a full dose of his own psychoactive weaponized drug. She was terrified.

The thugs had managed to gain control of Batman, and had him pressed to the floor. "We have him!" yelled the driver. "Do we kill him now? Take his mask off?"

"Tom, Tom, you are so small-minded," said Crane. "Mister Bat; please accept my humble apologies for this. I, personally, would love to never have to see you again. And my colleagues are… well, they're terrified of you. More than they were when they thought you didn't kill, anyway."

Batman didn't say anything.

Crane continued. "We have a serious problem here in Gotham City. All the usual suspects are getting awfully sick of you, and they want to kill you. I mean, a lot. Your one-man crusade is just… well, bad for business. Sadly, I've never been… well, let's just say I'm not now, nor will I ever be a big fan. But I've never been what you'd call a businessman. Ra's al Ghul… what a fellow! Big plans for the city, am I right? But he had something I wanted, so I didn't care what his plans were. I thought he'd just take it over, but he always did think big, eh? Anyway, I'm not really one of these." He gestured at the henchmen surrounding them. "Never have been. Oh, I've hired them, I've used them, but I am, essentially, at my core, a doctor. I want to know things. I'm curious about the nature of fear."

Batman raised his head carefully. "What do you want, Crane?"

"Me? I want to finish my research. The man I'm working with now? He'd very much like for you to destroy the mob and leave a power vacuum for him to fill. However, he wants you to know that he's watching you. That he knows you're vulnerable… that he knows how to find you at any time." Crane grabbed Chloe by the neck, pulling her closer. "And he knows your worst vulnerability of all; your love of innocents. Wasn't that my downfall, menacing the late Ms. Dawes? Myself and Eddie, we want you to fear us the way everyone fears you. Also, we wanted to help you." Crane drew a hypodermic needle from a pocket, carefully placing it on the floor. "This serum is one of my latest works. Designed to be highly effective on our bullet-proof friends with the tattoos. Just to give you a little edge. But when you're done with them, remember; we're watching you."

Crane let go of Chloe, walking away. The men holding the Bat hesitated, then let go of him and scattered.

He didn't get up immediately, waiting a few seconds. When he did she could tell he was injured. He was hesitating, moving gingerly.

He glared at her. "Pick up the serum; we need to get out of here," he rasped.

She crouched down and picked it up. Her hands were still tied together, but she didn't say anything. She was a little too freaked out to say anything.

He made a grunting noise, glancing up at the ceiling. "Walk behind me while we leave."

Then he turned and stalked back out the door, following the same path Crane had taken. "Crane's not as crazy as he sounds," growled the vigilante, while Chloe scurried to keep up with him. "Demented, yes. But he has a firmer grasp on reality than a lot of people here. He's escaped from jail three times while I've been in Gotham. I keep catching him, but he's been watching me, too. Apparently he's studying me."

He was talking an awful lot. That meant he was thinking hard, and trying to cover.

She knew he had been dealt a terrible blow tonight. Not just to his ego, but to the image he projected. And it was her fault. She'd given them leverage against him, and been bait in their trap. She couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty. "Sorry," she said.

"Don't be," he rasped. "They've obviously been planning this a long time."

It was inevitable, she supposed. Shown a hero, they were trying to figure out how to use him. How to make him a villain. How to get some gain from him.

She felt angry that they had used her as any part of this plan, although the logical side of her brain pointed out that she was an interchangeable cog; they could have used anybody to try to get to him.

But they had gotten to him. They were going to use him. They were going to threaten him. She had an idea that he was going to fight—how could a man like that not fight?

But he was going to lose. They were right—he cared for the innocent. Too much.

And it could get him killed.

There was a van waiting, out front. It took her a second look to see that it wasn't really a mini-van; that was just a façade, armored plates standing up and protecting the car. Those plates slid down and away, and locked the whole thing into a tighter image in a quick second and crunching noises.

It was an unremarkable looking car. She was sure that it could withstand a hail of bullets, or a rocket propelled grenade.

He opened the driver's door, and she tried to find the handle on the passenger's side. There was nothing there at all; no handle, no locks, nothing.

The door popped open, unlatched from the inside. "Get in," he growled.

She got in.

He drove away in silence, undetected. His arsenal of vehicles were all very stealthy, and she was beginning to understand how it was he was able to pop up anywhere in the city, at a moment's notice. He wasn't like Clark at all, she concluded. He had no powers. He was a normal person.

She was terribly disappointed to conclude this. This city needed somebody able to do great things, not just somebody with fancy cars and a cape.

"Would it be possible for you to provide me with some of what they have?" he asked, his voice stony and controlled.

"What? The mob? I don't—?" But then she stopped, struck dumb for a moment. He didn't mean the Mob; he meant the enhanced strength the kryptonite gave the Trio.

She shook her head. "No. Definitely not. That… that stuff makes you crazy. It kills you. If you take it… if you use it… it'll kill you."

3.

He took her to a safe place near the hotel and left her there. Then he headed to seek medical attentions. This time was worse, and he knew he would need an actual doctor. He would need a cover story.

He had part of a name, now. Eddie. Somebody careful, and meticulous. Somebody who had watched him, had enlisted Crane, who was too sharp, too crazy, and had seen too much. Crane knew parts of him that nobody else knew. Crane was aware of the link to Ra's al Ghul. He wasn't sure how aware, but Crane knew there was a connection of some sort.

Crane was also a trained psychiatrist, and was terribly aware of his weaknesses.

Bruce was exhausted, hurt, and he was running out of ideas. Even if the Trio was defeated, as Chloe Sullivan claimed, they still knew the secret of that terrible strength. If they sold that, or it was taken from them, he could be dealing with a much larger problem.

He had to protect the secret of those powers.

He had to protect his secrets from Chloe Sullivan.

He had to find a way to fight back against Eddie; find the other man's weaknesses.

He radioed ahead to Alfred. "I've taken some damage; you'll need to get a good story ready. I think I need a doctor."

4.

Chloe returned to the hotel room, very briefly, and gathered all her things. She checked out, and headed across town in a cab.

It didn't take her long to spot the tail, now that she was looking. It took her a little more time to lose the tail; they knew what they were doing.

She checked her clothes and luggage for any electronics that they could be using to track her. Then she did a little more cab-hopping and running around, just in case there was another tail she didn't see.

Then she checked into a fleabag hotel under an assumed name, paying with one of the credit cards that was under that assumed name. She assured herself that it wasn't really fraud as long as she paid the card off afterwards… although she suspected they might take a narrower view on it.

Still, if you were worried that somebody was tracking you using your name, it didn't pay to use your own card.

Later she sat on the bed, drinking water, and tried to think her way through a possible conversation with Clark about this. She tried to always be honest with him, these days. But he would freak out entirely over something like this. He would come running down here and tear up this town.

And this town would eat him alive. The criminals here were already used to a super-powered good guy, a person trying to do the right thing. They would have a field day with Clark.

They would destroy him.

5.

Bruce was sweating. Not just because of the injuries, but also because his entire operation here in Gotham was at risk now. If they were able to turn Batman into a criminal—not just an outlaw, but a real criminal—it would break the power of the symbol. It would destroy the force of everything he was doing.

It would create an even worse situation than when he was starting. Turning this city into something better, fighting the darkness, had been his obsession. That it might turn into his doom was ironic, and enough to make him want to scream.

So he wore this expensive suit and prowled the city. It wasn't the suit he'd rather wear—the armor was always preferable to the Armani. But right now he couldn't afford to be Batman. He needed very much just to be Bruce, just a spoiled rich kid looking for a good time. He needed to be visible, visibly unhurt. Healthy and whole.

After the third hotel in as many minutes he ditched the models. Alfred was able to keep a lot of them coming and going, girls who hoped being seen with Bruce would advance their careers or get them into his life and his mansion.

He hated that part of the deception. He'd hated it from the start. He hated letting people close to him in any way, and he'd hated giving Rachel the wrong idea about him. Now that she was dead the sham of intimacy almost made him crazy.

Sometimes he wondered about his mental health.

It was when he got back to his mansion, alone, that he realized the situation was taking a turn for the worse.

Chloe Sullivan's vehicle was parked in front of the mansion.

He climbed out of the Porsche very carefully, trying not to bump his shoulder at all. He walked up the stairs as calmly as he could, trying not to look too surprised when he saw her talking to Alfred. Alfred was being charming and evasive, talking about the architecture.

"Alfred. Miss Sullivan," said Bruce, feeling hot, uncomfortable, and at a disadvantage already.

She smiled disarmingly at him, as if she hadn't spent last night being kidnapped. "Mister Wayne. I was hoping to catch you at home… I just have some questions, if you don't mind…?"

He minded. And that elfin little smile shouldn't help her at all here.

He glanced to Alfred, keeping that easy smile ready to hand. "Alfred, is there some port in the sitting room…?"

Alfred's eyes only narrowed slightly. "Of course, Mister Wayne. I know how you like your nightcaps after a long evening."

Bruce smiled at Chloe. Mostly he liked painkillers after a really long night of crimefighting, and generally he preferred those that left his head completely clear.

This woman was more dangerous to him than the Trio had been, even with their incredible strength and invulnerability. She was worse than the mysterious Eddie, who wanted to use Batman for his own ends. Those, he could freely hit and maim in his efforts to succeed. In fact, it might even be a bit therapeutic.

But he knew that her intentions were good. This woman wanted right to succeed. She already trusted Batman more than Bruce Wayne—that was always a very good sign.

He kept the mask in place while smiling and leading the way. He knew it would be some colored water, with liquid Tylenol or some other painkiller, in his glass. He also knew that hers would be very expensive liquor, if she took any.

"No, thank you," she said, when Alfred gave her an inquiring look. "I'd like to keep a clear head. Mister Wayne, I'd like to talk to you about some facts that have recently come to my attention."

Bruce nodded. He had no excuses left, except exhaustion, and he didn't want to show any weakness. He just had to endure one more interview with her, he told himself. He could pretend to get angry at some stupid detail, and throw her out. Then refuse to let her back in, claiming she had slighted him.

They followed Alfred to the sitting room. Alfred carefully concealed his hands while pouring a glass out for Bruce.

Once Bruce had the glass in hand and had taken a sip he smiled at her, trying not to let anything show in his eyes. "So, Miss Sullivan, what have you been up to?"

She took a deep breath, eyeing Alfred. "I think Wayne Enterprises has been dabbling in illegal biological weapons, Mister Wayne. I've already sent my editor a rough draft of an article showing how misleading accounting processes are covering up the research and development you're putting into it, and I've highlighted some links between the worst of the events in Gotham and your company."

It was so much better and so much worse than what he had expected that he allowed a small laugh. "You can't be serious."

"I have copies of some of the statements I'm using right here," she said, producing a thick manila folder. "Plus some of the more questionable ties I've found, including the incredibly fast production of a vaccine to a fear toxin that nobody else knew about. I can't prove the fear toxin was manufactured by Wayne Enterprises… but I'm working on that."

He didn't take the manila folder from her. Instead he scowled slightly. "Wow; all this without a single image or report of any sort showing how we would build something like that?"

She paused. "How do you know I don't have any pictures?"

"Because we have no such labs. Look, do you want to see what the R and D budget went into? Seriously, since I started managing my parent's company—do you know what they were doing when I came back? They were in bed with the military! I've tried to turn this company around, to make the world a better place, to do what I thought my parents would have liked!" He let his voice rise in pitch, getting almost shrill. He wanted to project the image of a wounded animal, of a playboy who might have had a little bit of heart in there.

She didn't rise to the bait, just smirking. "Then I'm sure that all this circumstantial evidence will just go away," she said sarcastically. "Trust me, Mister Wayne, it hasn't escaped my notice that during the Joker crisis your company sank an undisclosed amount of money into a huge expenditure on cell phone technology. You'd been swapping phones out for months, implementing new technology, but in the middle of a crisis, you went for broke? You profited somehow on all the destruction around you, and I disapprove on principle of people willing to profit off other people's deaths."

He had to hand it to her; she was quite brilliant. She'd found all the things he had carefully hidden, all the clues. They did look very bad, and when she published them, Wayne Enterprises would take a big hit.

But she hadn't made the leap to seeing the other direction these hints could point. For that, he was grateful. So he made a show of taking deep breaths, getting his calm back. It would be better if she continued to think of him as a villain rather than a hero. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything you've found, I'm sure," he said. He took the folder from her, opening it up. "Look at this; the money we dumped in during the Joker crisis went to communications infrastructure. We did this because the Joker had sabotaged communications grids to keep the police off balance, and our new cell phone network had become the only viable means of communications!" That was a bluff, and a dangerous one, but that was one of the big expenses that needed to stay covered up very deeply. "We weren't trying to profit; we never turned any profit on that money, or on the money I sunk into, into Harvey's campaign! I was working just as hard as anybody to save this city!"

He hoped he wasn't overdoing it. It was hard to tell. He didn't want to tip his hand too far, to let her see his obsession with saving the city. But he needed to suppress that article.

She smiled condescendingly. "Then I'm sure you'll be able to explain exactly what projects you are working on right now, in your Research and Development black hole."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure you're perfectly aware that I don't keep track of the day to day business. That's what Lucius is for. But we've turned down many lucrative government contracts because I'm not interested in making weapons, and we've tried to put as much of our business as possible right here, in Gotham City, to try to revitalize it."

She shook her head. "Your story is just like your company; full of holes. You've done a good job of papering over them, but I'm going to fill those holes in for the whole world, Mister Wayne."

He had been right. Of all the threats facing him, she was the worst. He glanced helplessly to Alfred, wondering what to do.

"There is always the nuclear option," said Chloe. He turned his attention back to her.

"What do you mean?"

"You could try honesty, see how far that gets you. You know, this stuff you're into… it'll destroy your company, and it'll destroy you personally."

There it was again—that knowing tone in her voice. She knew something, something he wanted very badly to explore. But he was wearing the wrong face for that. She would never trust Bruce Wayne with anything important.

And it was too dangerous to let her spend any more time with the Batman.

He glanced to Alfred, and realized that he was going to have to take a huge risk if he wanted to save everything.

He was going to have to let her a little closer to Batman. Let her see some of the things he kept so carefully hidden. He had to let her in far enough to stop her from going any further against Wayne Enterprises.

So he took a long drink, and shook his head. "What makes you think I'm not being honest?" he asked glibly. "Alfred, please help Miss Sullivan find her way out."

And he headed for the entrance to the Cave.


	5. Chapter 5

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Chloe wasn't terribly sure she was going to make it home from the Wayne mansion without being kidnapped again. Sure, she was carrying a taser, a tire iron, and had carefully concealed herself and her car from being spotted by those looking to track her down. But she knew that nine times out of ten if she went out on her own and ended up alone in a poorly lit place, somebody was going to try to kidnap her. It was just one of the pitfalls of playing sidekick to people who had enemies.

She hated being the damsel in distress. She got out of the mansion and into her car as quickly as possible, checking the back seat before getting in. She knew all the tricks that went along with not getting kidnapped.

Still, none of them would have helped her with this one, she decided.

He was just standing in front of the car, waiting. The minute she turned the lights on he seemed to fill the windshield with his presence.

He hunched forward a little in the costume, giving him a look that should have been slightly bowed, almost subservient. But instead it was a panther-like roll to his shoulders, creating an almost animal visage.

He was more monster than man.

She opened the door, leaning out. "Want a ride somewhere?" she asked, as cheekily and carefree as she could with her heart racing.

"Come with me," he growled.

She turned the car off and walked with him to his car.

2.

Bruce drove her around the mansion essentially blindfolded for almost an hour before going into the Cave. He needed her to think it was back in town—or on the other side of it—or anywhere.

Inside he let her out of what Alfred had dubbed the isolation chamber. It had only occurred to him after having brought Rachel here that he needed a way to carry people around in his vehicle and not let them know where they were going. Better than a blindfold were windows that came down all around her that were painted black.

She looked around the labyrinth-like caves with wonder, staring at the computer setup and all the tiny lab setups. "This place looks… wow," she said, awed for just a second.

He had planned to talk quickly once they got her, to distract her from this giant cave and the money that went into it. But he thought of Rachel, and it threw him off his stride.

"Why did you go to Wayne Enterprises tonight?" he asked her, putting all the command he could in the voice.

She tried very hard to look unaffected, but he could almost see her pulse speed up with fear. He hated to admit it, but Crane had taught him some things—tricks, ways to use the fear. Crane was very good with fear. Bruce had even kept a sample of the fear serum around, and new samples of every permutation Crane came up with. Because fear was what he was all about. Someday he'd need to create more than he could by simple images and costumes. It would be crossing a line… but he had crossed a lot of lines to get here.

"Look, I know you said this trail is cold, but they're hiding things!" she said sharply.

He nodded. "They're hiding a connection with me," he rasped.

This might be a terrible mistake. This might destroy everything. But she was already tripping all over this, and she was too smart to coddle. He had to be somewhat honest. No matter how much this scared him.

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Wayne Enterprises is my funding," he said, gesturing around. "You see, sometimes lost little rich boys need direction in life. I asked him for help on my mission. Help of a sort only he can give. I tried to cover this up, to keep you out of it, because if the world finds out what he's done to help me, they'll bury him like they're trying to bury me."

She thought about it. "He returned to America around the same time you appeared."

"I found him," said Bruce, stretching the truth of Ra's al Ghul just a little bit. "Out there searching for an identity." That was very true. "I made him an offer. Leave that life of dissolution, come here, take charge of his company, and use it to save the city his parents had tried hard to save. You see, he wanted to be closer to them… and now he's a very tangible part of their crusade."

She was nodding. "He was almost custom made for your needs," she said, looking around. "I assume Fox knows."

"That's between him and Wayne," said Bruce. "I don't deal with him." Which was true. This particular face never went anywhere near Lucius.

She smiled at him. "And I'm about to muck up your whole deal with him." She suddenly looked a whole lot happier. He'd let her into a real secret now, not just trying to build her trust with useless information, and she could tell the difference.

She had wormed her way into his war, now. Not just the sidelines of it, not just as an observer, or one of the people he'd saved. He had let her into his sanctum, and revealed one of his secrets.

He suddenly felt like crying. This would get her killed, as surely as it had gotten Rachel killed.

He covered over it. "I have a serious problem," he growled.

"I have a solution," she said. "But… it involves a lot of trust. Can you do that?"

He was struck dumb for a minute. He just glared at her, wondering what she could see in his face. Wishing that he could make the cowl cover more of himself. "Just what do you have in mind?"

She moved closer to him. "Something to really scare these people. You see… I know other people. People like you. People who've decided to go out and make the world… better. Some of them are just normal men hiding their faces. Others… well. Imagine those three guys who tore your town apart… imagine there are lots of them out there. Because there are. Every day some creep creates a new one, nature twists and turns and creates a new one, and some of them… aren't even from around here. Imagine that… and imagine some of them… making the right decisions."

He shook his head, but he was listening carefully to everything she said. "Go on."

"There's not a lot of them. But I know these people. They've been… well, they've been dealing. With the Trio. With the people out there trying to make more problems like this. With the bad people. With all the things you deal with that normal people can't."

He shook his head. "That's a mistake," he said flatly. "Normal people can't deal with this. What I do isn't just about what I do. If it was I could take the mask off. It's about symbols. It's about belief. About inspiring people."

"To fear?" she asked. She wasn't teasing now. She was deadly serious. "What's the end result of that?"

"When people fear doing wrong more than doing right, what will they do?" he asked.

She suddenly had a vision. "Can't you inspire them to something… better? Inspire the good people?"

He shook his head, hard. "No, I can't." His voice was harsh, even more than it had been a moment before. "Where there is crime, and death, and destruction, there will be punishment."

She saw it, then. The darkness in him. More than just a matter of a choice to inspire fear. More than just breaking the law to do the things the law couldn't do. A desire to mete out punishment. A darkness that she knew ought to scare her.

But seeing, for the first time, what drove this man, she felt less scared than she ever had. It was more human.

He moved around the car, towards a monitor. "What are you suggesting, exactly? That I bring in help? I can't afford to let them know I'm not working alone. It'll lessen me in their eyes."

She nodded. "I'm talking about… something that'll make them think you really can do anything. I do mean … anything."

He glanced back at her, trying to figure out whether he could trust her that much. Whether he could let her any deeper down the rabbit hole. "You want me to, what? Let one of your friends wear the suit, go out and beat them? Show them I can truly break the laws of physics?"

"In a word; yeah!" She wasn't sure Clark would go for it, but it was worth a try. He'd worn the Green suit to help Oliver out. He would wear the Bat suit if she asked. She hoped.

She wasn't sure if it was just the cowl, but the Batman seemed to be scowling at her. "I'd have to meet them first. See them." Investigate them, he didn't say. Probe them. Never trust them, certainly.

She smiled.

3.

While they were driving away, in circles, she spoke again. "You know, this whole thing… it'll destroy you."

He was silent for a long time, thinking about that. How could she possibly know what could or couldn't destroy him? She hadn't seen this city, and what you had to be to beat it. She was an outsider, looking down from some other place that wasn't as dark as this.

He shook his head slightly, glad for the new costume that afforded him more shoulder movement, more neck movement. "I know it's dangerous."

"But you think you can survive it." She was unaware that the glass separating them was one-way, and that he could see her. She stuck her tongue out at him, then sighed. "Arrogance. The downfall of those who would be heroes."

"My city needs me."

"More than you need to keep breathing?"

The answer was yes, but he let it go unsaid. He had already committed everything to this fight. Committed his life. If he were to die, he would have no regrets.

"No answer means yes," she said, and her voice was very far away and sad suddenly. She was thinking of something else, talking about somebody else. Somebody who would make the same sacrifices. Somebody she didn't want to lose.

He wanted to reassure her, but he had nothing left in him to give to her. He had bottled up every good part of himself. Everything that obeyed the law. Everything that did good. He had hidden it away for a rainy day, for someday long in the future when this crusade was over.

Now he was just the blackness within the human spirit. He was just the darkest, most dangerous parts of himself.

He was Batman.

4.

Calling Clark back here was going to be risky. Clark was not going to like the Batman, with all his secrets and his dangerous ways. He wouldn't like working with a killer. But Chloe had seen enough of this town to know that they needed the Bat.

So she called him. "Hey, I'm still in Gotham. I need a favor," she said.

She heard the dull whooshing noise, and braced herself against the blast of wind. She heard her hotel room door shut. "That took a little longer than normal."

He shrugged. "You didn't tell me where your new motel was."

She eyed him dangerously. "You were in town?"

He looked down and away. "Jimmy tried to get in touch with you, and couldn't. I've been looking for you. Your phone's been off, you checked out of your last hotel and never registered under your own name…"

She sighed. "Thanks, Clark."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. There was some trouble, but nothing that couldn't be handled."

For a minute there was tension between them, and he gave her that look he had; the one that said he knew she was lying, that he knew there was more to the story. But he didn't press the point, and she had known he wasn't going to.

He swallowed, looking down and away from her. He wouldn't push it. Their friendship had weathered worse lies, and he knew that she wouldn't say it unless she believed it.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"The Bat is up against a wall," she said. "There are some thugs threatening to hurt me if he doesn't do what they say. We need to show them that he can't be messed with, can't be blackmailed."

His face hardened. "You mean the killer?"

"I've spoken to him Clark, and he's not a killer! Clark, you need to talk to this guy. I can arrange a meeting…"

This was a mistake, but it was one that she was already committed to. It was one that could save the Dark Knight of Gotham.

5.

Standing on a rooftop in the middle of the city, watching the lights go by and listening to sounds and cries that might be crimes in progress, Chloe realized how crazy this was.

Let these two titans meet? They'd tear each other apart.

Clark was wearing a leather jacket, aping his own darker side. But Clark's darker side was actually fairly cuddly, and Chloe knew that for a fact. Having cuddled with said dark side on at least one occasion she could remember.

And that was an inappropriate memory she needed to put away right now, she decided, flushing. The last thing she needed was old memories that she had tried very firmly to bury to come out now and make things awkward.

Well. More awkward.

"Keeps his own schedule, huh?" asked Clark waspishly. She winced.

"He'll be here soon," she said quietly.

He was there already, actually. Clark turned suddenly, staring at a deep shadow behind them. "Come out!" he snapped.

The Bat came out slowly, unfurling from the darkness as if he owned the night. "Miss Sullivan," he rasped. "And who's your friend who can see in the dark?"

"This is Clark," said Chloe, putting a hand on Clark's chest.

Clark pushed past her. "I don't like killers," he said, flatly and unambiguously. No matter how hard he tried to see shades of grey, there were certain lines that were plain and flat for him. Certain things a hero didn't do.

Chloe winced. She'd tried to point out how hard Batman had tried not to kill. She'd tried to show him the good side of this man. But to Clark, you couldn't be two things. He had enough trouble with Oliver, and Oliver was just as much anti-killing as he was!

The dark figure hesitated, and Chloe looked closely at him. She knew that his arm had been injured and re-injured, and that he'd already been pushed to the limit by the Trio. She knew that he was already beyond the limits of what a human could do.

But she also knew he was going to keep pushing past those limits, no matter how mortal he might be. That he might just throw down with Clark, not realizing how severely outmatched he was.

The dumbest thing for Chloe to do now would be to get between these two testosterone-charged heroes. But, really, what else could she do? These were both men who put themselves in danger's way for other people on a regular basis. The least she could do was take a little risk for them.

So she moved between them. "We can iron out the details later. Right now we need to talk about our common enemy."

"A trio of freaks," said Clark, carefully leaving out the kryptonite. "People with abilities far beyond a normal human's."

"And you're a bit like them," growled Batman.

Clark swallowed. "Different. But similar, yes."

There was great reluctance in the Bat now. "And you think that if you were wearing my costume you could…"

"Yes," said Clark simply.

There was a silence for a moment, broken only by the sounds of a city at night. Down below them, on the street, somebody was listening to their music too loud, with the bass cranked. The faint throbbing pulse felt like the city, trying to breathe, it's heart faltering.

But the true heart of the city was staring them in the eyes, his own hidden in the cowl. His mouth was turned downward, in a scowl, but Chloe was getting a little better at reading the mysterious ninja-like hero.

He was afraid. Afraid they'd compromise his ability to protect his city.

After they'd get hurt helping him.

She frowned. That was a very strange fear for him to have, and one that she wished she had time to investigate.

She pressed on. "Do you have a spare suit?"

6.

The freaks were trying to find the stash of K-rocks Chloe had stolen from them. That meant they were at the last address she'd used her name at, tearing the hotel apart room by room. The police had arrived, and they'd brought big guns.

Worthless against these bruisers.

The tank the national guard had brought was already smashed to pieces. The police were falling back.

That was when Batman arrived, dropping out of the night to land in front of them, between them and the line of squad cars. Somebody fired a shot, but it went wild. Nobody else dared move.

The leader of the trio, the one with the most tattoos, snarled at Batman. "You're nothing!" he howled. "We took you apart once, and we can do it again!"

He shook his head. He charged forward, quickly, and hit the middle one, so hard he went flying away.

The other two turned to attack him. He staggered a little, already weakening, then suddenly jerked upward, flying into the night, away from them.

They were confused, but not demoralized.

Not yet.

He swooped back down to earth, this time letting loose with his usual stream of kung-fu. Favoring one-armed attacks strongly.

Then he swooped away.

He returned, completely messing up the landing and staggering, but he still managed to punch one of them.

This time the blow had such power that it sent the freak flipping end over end into the hotel. He came to a stop only when he slammed into the elevator.

The punch he sent at the other one was noticeably weaker, but it still took his down to his knees. Then the Batman swooped away again.

He returned, landing so gracefully that it made his previous landing look like the work of an amateur.

The one kneeling on the ground was surprised. "We had you, before!" he screamed, the unfairness of it making him shake with unreasoning rage. "What happened?"

"I stopped holding back," he growled, angry. "Did you hear what happened the last time I stopped holding back? People died!"

7.

The entire thing had been fast and brutal. Chloe's heart was hammering in her chest. It had also been less fast and brutal than Clark would have liked. At superspeed he might have been able to deal with them without having to try to shake off kryptonite poisoning.

She helped him out of the spare batsuit. It was made for a man about half a foot shorter than him, she noted. Narrower in the shoulders, but not much. Underneath he was only wearing boxers, and she was surprised at how much more muscle he was carrying than he had been when they were just teenagers, since the last time she'd seen him shirtless.

He was steadily absorbing more and more power from the sun. Steadily becoming stronger and stronger. Every year she'd noticed the kryptonite having less effect on him.

That was somewhat scary. The idea of Clark with no off switch…

Batman returned, joining them. He didn't ask questions they wouldn't answer about why being in the Trio's presence weakened Clark. He didn't ask how Clark had come to be so strong.

What did ask scared her.

"You're the one who saved Metropolis last year," he said simply.

Clark stared at him.

"You have the power," continued the Bat. "And if your opponent doesn't weaken you, it must be even more than you had today."

Clark grimaced. "I'm sorry, I can't—"

"You go bad, and I know how to put you down now."

Chloe felt chills running up and down her spine. It was blunt. It was terrifying.

It made a terrible sense.

This man had to know how power could corrupt. He had to realize that Clark was the better part of a demigod. And he knew Clark wasn't part of his city, wasn't something he could watch.

So he wanted Clark to know that he'd be watching.

It made sense.

Clark stood up. "And give me one good reason I shouldn't drag you down to jail right now?" he demanded. "If I go bad? You already went bad!"

And the truce was off, just like that.


	6. Chapter 6

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

There was a tension in the air that could only be resolved through violence. Clark, just wearing those ridiculous stars and stripers boxers, was gaping in surprise at the Batman.

Batman was glowering. He knew he was taking a chance, that if Clark decided to just take him down now, save himself some trouble, then he could succeed; Batman wasn't ready for this fight.

Chloe wasn't sure what to do. Both of them were just standing there, capable of more destruction than any of the villains they'd just taken down. Both of them were dedicated to the same ideals, trying to save the world. Both of them did nothing but help other people.

But they differed so fundamentally about how to do it that Chloe knew there was no way they would ever come to agree.

She tried to step forward, to get between them, laughing lightly to try to cut the tension. But they were too deeply into this to be so easily distracted. Clark moved her back, away from the line of fire, with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not too thrilled with what you do here," said Clark, his understatement hot enough to burn. "You kill."

The Bat twitched away from them, looking out over the city. "I've brought justice back to Gotham," he growled. "What have you done?"

Clark almost shot out another unwise comment, but held back at the last moment. "I've sworn my life to protecting people," he said. "To keeping people safe from things that kill them. You? How are you not like them?"

That caught the Bat's attention. "I'm nothing like them!" he growled. "Now take your sidekick and get out of my city!"

Chloe definitely didn't like the sidekick moniker. For starters, it was way too accurate. Secondly, it made her feel about three feet tall.

There was a frozen minute or two, and then the Bat left quietly. His message had been delivered.

2.

Chloe stuck around after Clark had gone back home. There was still a situation brewing here. The mysterious 'Eddie' was determined to use the Bat against himself, after all, using his decency and goodness as a tool against him.

She was standing on the roof of her hotel waiting when he snuck up behind her. "Miss Sullivan," he growled, and she jumped.

"Gah! What, did you get some kind of ninja training?" she complained.

He tilted his head to one side. "Most ninjas made themselves invisible by hiding in crowds, or by disguising themselves as women, you know. The idea of dressing all in black and hiding in the shadows… that's from a different sort of mythology."

She had no idea what that was supposed to mean. "What are you going to do about the gangsters who want to use you?" she asked bluntly.

He shrugged. "You told me that using the glowing rocks to enhance my own abilities would be a poor idea. Would you care to explain that?" he asked.

She swallowed. She had been hoping he wouldn't make the connections, hoping he wouldn't want to use it. "It… it makes you crazy. I don't know how, or why. If it swells the brain, or if the rush of power corrupts… but every single freak I've ever met, every single K-freak… they all go bad. Even the ones who start good, who try to do something good, they turn bad. This stuff infects you. It changes you. Changes who you are, what you are. You think you can… but then, every single one of them…."

His mouth twitched, the corners moving down. "How did you become infected?"

She swallowed, taking a step back from him. He was smarter than she had thought. "Accidentally!" she said. "And it's—it's a tiny power, compared to some. And I'm terrified of it. I don't know if it'll work, I don't know if using it makes me crazy…"

"And power corrupting… how does that fit in with your friend Clark Kent?"

She glowered at him. He wasn't supposed to have broken Clark's secret identity that easily. "Clark is the most incorruptible man I've ever met," she said sharply. "And he's different. He didn't get his powers from the rocks."

He didn't press that point. "And you trust him?"

She took a deep breath. "You want to know how much?" She pointed to the edge of the roof, her hand shaking slightly. "I could throw myself off this roof, you know. I wouldn't even be terribly afraid. Know why? Because I know that Clark's out there, and if I scream loud enough, he might hear me. I know he'd risk his life for me. I know Clark won't even kill his enemies—that's one line he'll never cross."

Batman's face darkened slightly. "You believe that?"

"As much as I believe that you'd beat him to me," she replied, still pointing over the edge of the roof. "You would, wouldn't you? What makes a man dive off a building to catch a girl? Abandon his own safety so completely? You didn't say it before, in the car, but we both know that you'd die for this city. For people who don't care, who aren't good."

"Most of them can be good," he growled. "Even the crooks here aren't beyond saving. They proved that, during the Joker's rampage."

She had no idea what he meant, but she didn't pursue it. There was something more important that she needed to establish. "You don't have to do this alone."

His lips almost smiled, but his eyes never did. "People I let help me have a funny way of dying," he said quietly. The words were phrased to try to lighten the impact, to find humor in it. But there was no humor there. Only a chilling truth.

It took her a second to force the next words out. "If you can trust me a little bit more, I think I can help you."

He was silent. She knew this violated everything within him.

She pressed on. "I've been a professional sidekick for a while; I can take care of myself."

"You carry a stungun," he said disdainfully. "The last girl I let help me—she had one of those. She had a taser, one that'll shoot the electrodes over some distance."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I know the terminology."

"It didn't make her any less dead at the end of the day," he replied. His voice was harsh now. He wasn't just listening to her any more. He heard something else entirely.

"I've died!" she snapped. "I got better." It was only mostly true.

He turned away from her. Whatever had been on his face, whatever emotion, he pretended there was none. Only his single-minded mission to save this city.

She folded her arms. "Anyway, you can't get rid of me that easily," she said.

He jumped off the roof, putting an end to the debate.

For now.

3.

She showed up at Wayne Manor in short order, storming the front steps of the place. The butler took it all in a stride, matching her pace and drawing her away to a side room away from wherever she had been heading.

"It'll be just a moment, miss," he said.

"You lied to me outright," she said bluntly. "With that whole bit about your boss giving away his Bat collection. Why?"

He frowned at her. "You'll find I only told you the absolute truth, miss," he said. "You just weren't listening to the important bits."

She laughed. "You're as bad as your boss. Did you know that he's…?" She let the end of the sentence trail off.

"The Batman did mention to us he'd be dropping that little bombshell," said the butler dryly.

She'd been pretty sure the butler was in on it. After all, his artful piece of misdirection about the Wayne Bat collection had really put her off the scent. A misdirection like that was too good to be unintentional.

"And you know what I want now?" she asked.

His smile was faint. "I haven't the foggiest what you have up your sleeve now, miss," he said, in a tone that said clearly he approved very much.

She smirked back at him. "Well, send your boss down. I haven't got all day."

"Quite right, miss," he said, turning and leaving. It was a stately exit, with grandeur. She wanted very much to learn how to do all that.

Bruce Wayne joined her shortly. He was wearing a blue satin robe and yawning.

She decided immediately that she was going to ignore how adorable he looked with tousled hair and rings under his eyes. Wasn't there a rule somewhere that people were supposed to look their worst just after waking up? She had attributed his previous polished good looks to a team of makeup artists and expensively tailored clothes.

Apparently genetics had given him the sort of effortlessly toned body that somehow withstood the partying this man was legendary for.

"What?" he said, clearly cranky.

"So, Batman," she said. "How long have you worked with him?"

He recoiled so suddenly that he tripped and fell to the floor; for a second his face was locked in that painful grimace, and then he remembered, laughing. "Oh, yeah, he was gonna tell you," he muttered, not getting up off the floor, just putting his hands over his eyes. "Ha! Right."

How had they kept the secret this long? This man couldn't keep any kind of secret. She struggled to keep her laughter off her face. "That's right, he told me."

He carefully arranged his face, but she noticed something. His eyes had shifted to the corner of the room for the barest second, looking right at the wall, before he turned his gaze back to her. She carefully didn't look, instead turning around and finding a chair to sit in. "Well, I have to say I'm impressed," said Wayne, managing to stand up and brush himself off. "He doesn't trust many people."

"You don't, either," she pointed out.

He smiled, somewhat wanly. "You know what'll happen to him if this gets out, don't you? They'll use the schematics and blueprints my company has of all his gear, and use it against him. He'll be killed if this ever gets out."

She was mildly impressed that his first thought wasn't for his own massive fortune. "He'll be just as dead if you and I stand by and let the thugs of Gotham use his own nobility against him."

He rubbed his chin. "You know," he said, in that almost effete voice, "he told me that you brought some serious fire power to the fight, but he wouldn't say more. Just what aren't you telling me, Miss Sullivan?"

Something about the way he said her name sent shivers down her spine. Not the good kind, either. For a second she almost forgot where she was; for a tiny fraction of a second she was on that roof again, thinking of hurling herself over the edge to prove her point, to see what the Bat would do.

That was silly. She hoped she wasn't going to have flashbacks like that anytime anybody said her name. That would make her the craziest woman in a crazy town.

"A lot of things," said Chloe. "He's your hero, right? Your good guy in the pocket. You hate bad guys, hate them enough to send all your money, all your military tech, right down the chute to this guy. And then, when you're all done, you turn around and… what? Let him die like this? I don't think so. I can't work with him, but I think I can work with you."

"Why can't you work with him?" asked Wayne, confusion all over his face.

"Because he shuts me out, shuts me down," said Chloe. "Because he doesn't want to get anybody hurt. Look, he's vulnerable. They will use him—that'll be worse than killing him. They'll use him and turn him against everything he's supposed to be, everything he's supposed to represent."

The millionaire's face darkened. "Yes, it would be," he said.

"Well, Mister Wayne, do we have a deal?" she asked.

He shook his head. "First you have to tell me what you have in mind."

She sighed. "You're as suspicious as him—does he give lessons? Is that it?"

He chuckled. "Tell you what. Call me Bruce… and I'll give you a crash course in working for the Bat. See if that makes you a little more likely to talk. Okay?"

She didn't like that at all. He was way too charming, way too slick. Pulling her any closer was dangerous, no matter how pretty he was.

But this was for the cause. This was for the Batman.

"Okay, Bruce," she said. "Give me the down-low."

The rules he laid out were simple. It was okay for the Bat to surprise them; it was not okay for them to surprise the Bat. They had to protect the secret at all costs; and looking like an idiot was an important part of the game.

This surprised her.

"You play dumb," she repeated, narrowing her eyes at him.

He shrugged. "It comes easy. And easier every day. You just play into people's expectations. Most of them think I was born a blonde at this point."

She laughed at that thought. "Okay. Anything else?"

He held up his index finger, staring at it balefully. "Only the most important one. We don't ever, EVER, try to do his job. Got it?"

That was a little close to home. That sounded like something Batman had said to her the night before. "Who died?" she asked finally.

Bruce looked away. "A… a young woman I cared for very deeply. Rachel."

The name was familiar. "The assistant DA? The one the Joker… oh. Oh."

"She was working with us," said Bruce. "Our inside person in Dent's office. She was… I grew up with her, you see. She used to… Her mother worked here. So she was here, and the two of us were thick as thieves." He glanced back at her, suddenly shaken by how much he had revealed.

And in his eyes Chloe saw worse things. Love. He had loved her deeply, and he had lost her. "I'm surprised you don't hate Batman," she whispered.

He laughed, and it sounded a bit harsh. "Sometimes I do. Sometimes I hate this city. Sometimes… he's not perfect, you know. He makes mistakes. But this mission… you didn't see this city before! You think it's bad now? It's utopia compared to what it was before. It used to be in certain parts of the city you couldn't even get on the train if the wrong people were mad at you. It used to be… but it isn't. Not any more. The good people of the city aren't afraid; only the bad ones. I like to think… I like to think that she… that this…"

He carefully covered his face with both hands, standing and turning away from her. She knew the problem he was having. Once you started disclosing secrets, they all wanted to fly out, right out of your chest. Once you'd revealed to somebody else that you knew about the Bat, and were helping, it was just a tiny step to showing how much the fight hurt.

She also knew that he was trying to withdraw again, and she didn't want that.

"I know," she said. "My best friend growing up… other than Clark, I mean… his life was ruined by these secrets, by this fight. Another close friend… she… Look, I know what it is to lose people in this fight."

He turned around, and his face could have been made of plastic for all the emotions it revealed. He was a lot better at hiding what he felt than she realized. "Let's move to the study," he said smoothly. "I'll ask Alfred to bring some of my things over… the stuff about him. And maybe you'll explain your plan to me."

She explained the plan. He was suitably horrified, but agreed to it anyway.

Sometimes she was just that good.

4.

Chloe hit the streets. It wasn't her city, and she wasn't going to find anything that had been even marginally well covered up. You needed to build your web of contacts from the ground up in order to learn the really juicy stuff.

But she wasn't really looking to learn anything today. She was here to put the word out.

At first nobody gave her the time of day. But after she'd passed along to a few shady characters that the Bat had been threatened, and consequently was going to gut little Eddie like a fish, she found herself being led into a dark alley by a tough goon with a trench coat.

She followed him in like a lamb to the slaughter, humming brightly. This unnerved the goon more than a little, and he crossed his arms defensively. "Who did you say you worked for? You ain't no cop."

"Reporter," she said. "Look, all I know is what I told you. Word is there's a vendetta, and I want to know where it's going to go down. For the story, you see. Pictures."

He nodded, buying it completely. "I can take you out there," he said. He was either visualizing the fight already, or he was thinking what an easy mark she was.

Only one of those thoughts got her any closer to where she was going. So she'd just have to pump the stakes up a little higher. "Did you see him take out those guys? The ones who were, like, some kind of super-man?"

"I saw it on TV," he replied cagily.

And that sealed the deal. He hadn't seen it on any TV. He'd seen it up close, he'd known it was coming.

That meant he knew more than he had any right to know. That meant he was more than a random thug on the street; he'd been sent to find her. That meant her questions had managed to snag Eddie's attention.

So she followed into the trap.

This was what she did. Walk into danger as if she didn't know she was in it. Walk into the places where a scary Bat would just freak them out, where Clark would have to start doling out violence.

This was what it really meant to be a sidekick. They wouldn't be capable of doing this, not on their own. The hero would never find these people, not able to fit in, not able to blend in. Not able to be part of the city. Too large, too conspicuous.

So she walked right into another old warehouse. This one had a second floor, with an office, which is where they took her.

Eddie was a skinny guy in his mid-thirties. He was wearing a bowler hat, and for a minute this threw her off. It was green.

"Saint Paddie's day, don'cha know," he said, sweeping it off and tossing it in the corner. He'd noticed her look, and her focus, out of the corner of his eye. "Miss Sullivan. I have to admit, I didn't quite expect you to be the one who hunted me down. I was expecting your big friend. Frank?"

The big guy left, leaving them alone.

She was pretty sure she could take this guy. He was small. He didn't look powerful, like a brawler. But she was pretty sure he was a brain, that he was the one planning this. So she smiled wanly at him. "You must be Eddie," she said.

He shuddered. "I much prefer Ed, or Edward. Anything but Eddie. Can I call you Chloe?"

"Sure," she said.

"Here's the thing; I have this little medical condition. Can't lie. It's a little bit Aspergers, a little bit Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Know what I mean? Always tell the truth. So I'm not going to answer any of your questions at this point, because I can't. Can't untruth you until you get out of my hair, can't get you to just walk away by convincing you its… agh, there I go again. I will say this to you. A riddle, if you will. If you can figure out why a man with no head pulls every trigger, then you'll have your answer."

It wasn't a terribly hard question, given all the information she had already. "You're a gun in somebody else's hands," she said. "They bring you out when things get bad. A mercenary who solves problems. And the OCD helps, doesn't it? You're like those TV detectives; you don't miss anything."

"Just like our resident detective," he muttered. "Yes, that is correct. Well reasoned."

"Your resident…? You mean the Bat? It strikes me that he doesn't solve crimes so much as apply brute force."

"Misdirection. He spends more time on figuring out the puzzles behind the scenes than beating people up. Query; what makes an effective hero? One who scares people, or one who makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

She felt just a bit of unease then. "You heard that conversation?"

"What? What conversation? No, I was just positing that our mutual friend… well, your friend and my enemy… he's not quite right."

Eddie wasn't quite right. He was talking like a socially awkward example of a high-functioning autistic. But there was more to it. He was thinking in circles. "You solve problems for the mob," she said quietly.

"I don't kill people," he said, and he seemed more than a little prickly. "I'm a problem-solver. I don't deal with territorial disputes or things like that. Those are for traditional types. I deal with the things that… well, did you know that there are some chemicals that have absolutely wild effects on people? Like our friends who were tearing up this town. They're not the only ones. The supersoldier programs… the freaks of nature… I would like you to meet my friend Solomon Grundy."

There was a noise from the darkness to her right and she half-turned. A hulking albino glowered back at her unhappily. When he spoke his voice was soft and wheezing. "Hello," he said.

"Solomon Grundy?" said Chloe, her eyes widening. She could usually tell when somebody was stronger than they ought to be just by looking at them. It was a thing. Perhaps the K-rocks in her system; perhaps all the other meta-humans she'd met. Something in her just saw it.

"Sorry," said Eddie. "That's just my affectation. From the nursery rhyme? Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday. This is the end of Solomon Grundy. You've never heard the rhyme? Dear, oh dear. Anyway, his name—his real name—is Cyrus. He's dead, you see."

The shambling figure grunted. Chloe's eyes catalogued all the ways he was alive, and all the ways he wasn't. All the signs and discolorations of drowning were on him, and his eyes were cold and dead.

"His intelligence seems to come and go by the hour," said Eddie apologetically. "Sorry. But he is… well, undead. Unkillable. Did you really think your hero could just come in here and take me? I saw what you did before, giving him powers he didn't have before. I noticed the little bait and switch; I always see these things! I know you have power on your side. But Solomon Grundy is on my side. He is like your friend; absurd. A thing not of this world. Go back and tell him that I am not alone, and that he cannot take me in my lair. Tell him to be afraid of me. Tell him that I am not afraid of him doing to me the things you spoke of openly in the street."


	7. Chapter 7

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Chloe left Eddie's lair. She could already see henchmen taking equipment apart in places; despite his bluster, he knew better than to stay in a compromised location.

She'd seen a lot of weird stuff in her time. Shapeshifters. Bizarre copies of Clark. Mood-altering rocks. She even had her very own scary superpower.

But this Solomon Grundy… he was something else. Something different. She'd heard no science explaining him. She had seen magic before; been possessed by an ancient witch, for one thing. But this… zombification… it was all wrong. It hurt her head to think about too hard.

And it scared her. If he was anywhere near as powerful as he had seemed to be, at first glance—and she was very, very good at telling, under normal circumstances—then even Clark would have trouble with him. And the odds of bringing back Clark to bail out the Bat twice in a row?

Slim, very slim.

Bruce Wayne was waiting for her in her car, looking around at the street nervously. "Hey," he said, when she slid into the driver's seat. "Find what you were looking for?"

"Unfortunately. They've got firepower," she said grimly. "It looks bigger than the clowns with the rocks."

He looked shocked and scared. "More firepower?" he asked. "This kind of escalation… what's your plan?"

She licked her lips. "We need more information about this guy. We have to take him down hard and public, so people know that doing what he did won't fly. We have to show them that… that having some kind of superman in your back pocket won't save them from the Bat."

Bruce nodded. He looked a little sick to his stomach. He clearly didn't have the guts for this kind of work, and Chloe almost felt sorry about dragging the rich boy along for this.

Almost.

"What now?" he asked softly.

"Now we go see your man Fox," she replied.

This was the reason she'd pulled him into this. She knew that Fox wasn't going to be easy to talk into the things she had in mind, but she needed a big organization behind her to try and cut through the Bat's enemies.

Specifically, she needed the kind of investigative power that the Bat had used to find her. And she needed to do it without the Bat finding out.

2.

When they barged into Lucius' office without an appointment, Chloe was halfway certain that they'd need to filibuster in some way to get his attention. That she'd need to put on a little scene to make him see things were very bad.

But those dark eyes were quicker than she thought. "Close the door," he said, and there was iron in that smooth voice. Bruce was already closing the door, latching it. "How bad is it, and can we trust her?" he asked.

"It's bad, and I think so. He thinks so," said Bruce.

Lucius' eyebrows went up. For a second calculations whirled behind those eyes. Then he smiled gently at Chloe. "Let's go to my other office."

There was a panic room door concealed behind his bookcase, which slid aside. His panic room was a featureless office, and there was a scrambling device on the floor. Chloe could almost hear the high-pitched whine it was making, the one she knew would keep any microphone from picking them up.

There were plain metal chairs, and Lucius took one of them. The door closed automatically, and he checked his watch. She could see colors flickering across it. "Be fast," he said.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Solomon Grundy, somebody named Eddie, and probably a lot of money. A troubleshooter of some kind. A supersoldier project."

Lucius nodded. "I'll get what I can on those. And what else?"

Chloe leaned forward towards him. "Terror."

His eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"These people saw how the Joker cowed the city; they see what the Batman is. They know now that if they want to fight they have to do it a different way. That they have to intimidate the populace. That they can use colorful costumes and dramatics. These people, these three freaks, who were tearing up the streets of Metropolis? They brought them here. They were just hitting their stride. The mob is going to begin escalating. You're going to be seeing more and more freaks. They're going to need money for this. They've already started. You need to track the money. It took money to build up an organization against him; this 'Eddie,' this 'Solomon Grundy,' they cost money."

"Well, Miss Sullivan," said Fox, his eyes twinkling. "The whole point of organized crime is to keep the police from finding the money."

"The police, yes. The FBI, yes. But I think you can find it," she said.

Bruce Wayne laughed. "What, we have magic money-tracing powers?"

She gave him a slow swivel-glare. "Buddy, don't think I didn't pay attention to the news reports. You people are the ones who magically find all the mob money so the police and the DA can bring it to ground. You two, between you, can follow money trails—and you don't have to worry about warrants and the like. You break the law plenty for the Bat, don't you?"

Fox raised his chin slightly. "Most of that is him, you know. He's smarter than you realize. He's very sharp. Somebody in the press began calling him the world's greatest detective after all that bluster with the mob money. I don't know if he is, but I know he's very smart. And he can think like a criminal."

Bruce chuckled. "And he's surrounded himself with Lucius and other bright minds," he pointed out. "And the top people inside the police are leaking stuff. He's not that good; he's just synthesizing the works of the best. I know; that's how I manage the company."

Lucius chuckled. "Yes, it is. So, you want us to trace a siphoning from all the major mobs, find out who it is that's come to the terrible conclusion they can use the Batman for their own ends… anything else?"

She sighed. "Are you going to go against me on this? Tell the Bat I'm trying to go behind his back?"

She could have sworn the CEO was twinkling. His smile was just a tad too smug. "I was just telling you that I think he really is the greatest detective ever born; and you think you can hide this from him? Hm, I bet he already knows."

She smiled. "I trust you two won't tell him?"

"Oh, my lips are sealed," said Lucius. He glanced at Bruce. "And Mister Wayne won't say a word, will he?"

Bruce nodded. "I can be discreet," he said.

Chloe nodded. "That's all I need. We can give the Bat a lot more power than he has right now; all we have to do is make the people on the street think he's much more than he is. This Eddie character isn't afraid, and he's spreading that around. His calm becomes the mob's calm. He's seen through the mask, because he doesn't see things the way you and I do. I flushed him out once, and I think we can find him again. But we can't bring the Bat into this, because he's ready for him. We have to be his eyes and ears now, do his job. And I'm afraid that if we tell him…"

"He doesn't like letting others takes risks," said Bruce, nodding. "He wouldn't let us do this for him. So you want to go around him, circumvent him."

"Exactly," she said, smiling.

They exchanged a significant look. "Well, then," said Lucius. "I'll do what I can to find out what you want to know. But I think you need to think a little bit about what you'll tell him when he finds out."

She noticed that he didn't qualify it with an _if._ "That confident?" she asked.

He nodded. "Miss Sullivan, please keep in mind, this man… he will find out."

She nodded. "By then I hope to be done with this. Okay?"

Lucius smiled, rising from his seat. "You can rely on me, of course."

3.

Bruce was subdued as they drove away. Finally he spoke in a very small voice. "How long have you been doing… well, this?"

"What do you mean?" she asked brusquely, checking her mirrors to avoid looking at him.

"I mean you're good. Too good. You've done this… you do this a lot. You know what criminals want, the difference between one after money and one with… other goals. You get in their head. And you understand… you understand the Bat. Even those of us who are closest… I don't think… you have a way of reaching right and getting into his head. And… yeah, you've been doing this since you were just a kid, haven't you? Why?"

She frowned, trying not to engage him too much. His questions tended to slip under her armor easier than the Bat. Or even Clark. "I was born a reporter. I've never wanted to do anything but make the truth matter. Make the bad guys pay. My first target, my first real target, was Lionel Luthor. I helped bring him down, sent him to prison. When he got out… well, it's confusing, but I think we were on the same side after that. Not my point at all. I just do it because it's right. Because people hurt other people. Because I don't want to see somebody hurt other people."

Bruce swallowed hard, looking away. "Noble."

"Your town isn't so different. I read about the two ships in the harbor that had been wired with explosives and given detonators. Even the crooks are worth saving, that's what the Bat said."

He looked up at her, and she made the mistake of looking him in the eye.

"Not everybody," he said.

There was darkness in him. He knew it. He fed off it. It was what drove him, what gave him will to get up in the morning.

She frowned, pressing her lips together firmly and focusing on the road. She'd seen darkness like this before. She'd watched Lex Luthor go from being a driven young man protecting his friends to being the dangerous criminal mastermind he was now, with that same dark hunger inside. She'd seen him go from being Clark's friend, willing to do anything to protect him, to being Clark's enemy.

"Huh," she said simply.

"That's why we have rules," he said quietly. "Because it would be easy, terribly easy, for any of us to deal with the Joker. Or with any killer off the streets. Just one bullet. That's why we don't use guns. Why we never kill. Because if we did that… even once… It would be too easy for us to slip right off that precipice. That's why the Bat does his work, and we don't do it for him. Because that way…"

She could have finished the sentence for him. That way nobody else was on that slippery precipice. That way nobody else had to confront this darkness he'd found festering within.

She had completely misread the situation here. She'd thought of Bruce as the affable, gentle man he was pretending to be. She'd thought he was just throwing money at the problem. But he was as much the problem as anybody else, well on Lex's path to believing that anything to help the greater good was permissible, desirable, and right.

He looked away from her, suddenly stopping. Cutting himself off. "You seem able to pry all my closest-held secrets out of me," he said, his voice hoarse.

She stopped the car, glancing outside. "We're back at my hotel. Listen, I have some stuff up there… research into your company… Wayne Enterprises… I think you'd better take it. It might be dangerous if anybody else got their hands on my research."

He nodded, getting out of the car.

The ride up in the elevator took too long. She carefully didn't look at him, knowing he was kicking himself for saying all that he had said.

"When I first met you, I thought you couldn't possibly be a real journalist," he said. "I'd heard the stories. But you're just… just a tiny little blonde girl with a big smile. And it's disarming. And I knew it was disarming, and I still let my guard down. You're a very powerful person…"

She shrugged. "I know from secrets," she said.

When they got to her room it took her a minute to gather all the research. While she did he glanced around the room briefly.

That was when she noticed the Sherlock Holmes scan.

"You just catalogued every single thing in this room," she said, surprised, dropping all the research she had into a file box.

"Sorry?" he said, feigning ignorance.

"You went one quadrant at a time and looked directly at everything, as fast as you could. You scanned first for immediate threats, then went through again for everything, one by one. You did it fast, but I know that technique. Good detectives use it. Is the Bat really the detective?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Batman's the one who taught me, not the other way around."

She chuckled, recognizing a deflection when she heard it. "You build the Bat up, but you're the one with the cool toys, with all the knowledge, and with all the pent-up rage at the injustices in life. If I didn't know better I'd guess you were the one going out at night and taking justice into your own hands."

He chuckled. It was forced.

Now all the clues that had been staring her in the face made a little more sense together.

Now the truth finally wormed its way into her head.

"And… I'm stupid," she said, taking a step back. "That's why Fox was sure the Bat already knew. Because there is no mythical third person who found you when you were out in the middle of nowhere, finding yourself. You found yourself, all right. You found something… a little darker than you were looking for."

He shook his head. "A little lighter," he corrected. "I was looking for justice… vengeance. I was looking for something… you can't prove anything!" That last sentence was more reflex than actual evasion. She ignored it, sitting down on the end of the bed, staring at him.

He squatted down to face her at eye level. There she could see into those eyes, and see what she had missed. That little obvious connection. The Batman face was all misdirection, but it was a truer representation of what he was, of what he felt, than the mask of Bruce Wayne that he wore.

"And you just walk around all day, every day, lying with your face," she whispered.

He smiled. "Not all the time. Alfred knows, of course."

She smacked herself in the forehead. "The first time I talked to him, he told me everything I needed to know to put it all together, and he hid it all in plain sight! He told me, right then and there, that you didn't like villains, that you separated yourself from the Bat in public because you disapproved of killing! And I knew, I knew already that the Bat wasn't really a killer! I knew right from the start that you had a traumatic child-hood! This was… you hide it very, very well."

He smiled. "If I didn't? I got back to town the same time as Batman appeared. They all know it. I hide everything in plain sight, using masks."

She was starting to hyperventilate a little bit. "And—and that voice! That so very, very scary voice, the one… it hides it all! Your mask doesn't even cover up all of your face! Your eyes are the same, your chin, your mouth, and it… you probably don't even need all the mask you have. That voice, that presence, that cape… you could walk the streets with your face exposed, and who could connect Bruce Wayne with the Bat?"

He put a calming hand on her knee, and it sent tingles of electric shocks up her leg. It was scary. His touch. Knowing that he was the one who could take a thug down with a dislocated arm. Knowing that he was the one who had attacked those thugs hopped up on meteor rocks.

She hadn't been afraid of Bruce Wayne before. It hadn't seemed possible to be afraid of this affable, dim millionaire. But he wasn't affable or dim. He was dangerous. He was violent. And he was filled with darkness.

She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to push all that down so she could focus on him. Focus on not missing anything else. "And what else are you hiding from me?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I let you know right from the start that my whole goal here was to go behind your back. And you… you just played along."

"You weren't wrong. This business… if I came down with the mask on that would be playing right into their hands. You… I don't know what your end game is, but I'm trusting you, here. A little bit. Letting you play this game out."

She squirmed a bit, moving out from his hand, standing up and moving away, to the door. She was a little short of breath.

He was a shark. A predator. She couldn't help feeling like a little guppy in the sea, in his sights. She couldn't help the fear, and she knew he could see it.

He looked down and away. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. My fault," she said quickly. "I should be used to this by now."

He shook his head. "Nobody gets used to this. I'm not used to this."

"Do you… do you really think of yourself as two different people?" she asked desperately.

He nodded. "But it's not me and the Batman. It's me… and Bruce Wayne."

It was too true to deny. The face that he used in public was the mask. It was this face, the face of the monster, that was real and true.

"You're the world's greatest detective, huh?" she asked, deflecting for all she was worth. Trying to get away from this line of conversation.

He moved closer to her, close enough that she could see the little lines forming at the edges of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know… I know it's not… it's all a little crazy. I wear a mask! I hide my face, and sometimes I think I'm crazy for what I do. But I have to do it."

"I know," she said. She looked away from him, to the wall. "Because if you don't do it, who will? If you don't do it, this city will shake itself apart. It's already half dead. And if you have to make them fear you to save them… you'd do that. And it's not about vengeance, and it's not about killing."

"I wanted vengeance. Bad. But if I got what I wanted… then the whole city would die. If I just let myself be what I want to be? I'd be no better than the mob, or the Joker, or the League of Shadows."

She blinked once. "Who?"

She made the mistake of looking back, of meeting his gaze. And he wasn't wearing the mask now, wasn't pretending to be a playboy millionaire. There was no pretense at all left. Inside he was the darkness, the terrifying Bat who had stalked her. Inside he was full of power that she could only imagine.

She couldn't look away from him. It was stronger than magnetism.

And he was too close. Close enough that she only had to lean forward a tiny little bit to kiss him.

And that part was wrong too. Because she wasn't kissing a good-looking man. She was kissing a monster of the night, embracing a vigilante.

This was her problem, her little defect. She had always been a little more in love with this part of Clark than the good boy. A little more in love with the martyr than the man. A little more in love with the alien than the boy next door.

God help her, she had been a little bit attracted to him when he was just a pretty face, but knowing he was also trying to save the world, was willing to die to save this city, was willing to be the darkness to save them from it? That made him irresistible.

And he hesitated, not quite kissing her back at first. Remembering lost loves, perhaps?

But that only lasted a heartbeat, and then he was kissing her back. And he put his hand on her arm. A strong hand—she'd seen him pummeling meteor freaks with those hands.

They were dangerous hands.

The kiss ended too soon for her. She stared up into those eyes, staring up at a man who was filled with so much rage, so much fire. He was surprised, confused. Part of her gloated at managing to take him off guard, even with his vaunted detecting skills.

He raised his left hand, putting a finger against the corner of her jaw. "Miss Sullivan… Chloe… you're not… thinking clearly…"

He was trying to let her down easy, trying to let her know this was all adrenaline and fear. That she was confusing the gratitude of realizing how many times he'd saved her life with attraction.

And he was right, too. Worse, this was all confused with all her lingering feelings for Clark. Not to mention that she had an on-again, off-again boyfriend back home. Sure, they might be off right now, but he'd proved surprisingly resilient at worming his way back into her heart and arms.

On the other hand, they were off right now. And try as she might, she'd never gotten to this point with Clark.

And there was a big part of her that had always wanted to have the Hero in this position. To have Clark in this position.

She surged forward, kissing him again.


	8. Chapter 8

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

It had been a long while since Chloe found herself in the position of waking up second. She expected to find him gone, and was surprised to find him sitting by the window, looking out at the city.

She gathered her clothes up quietly, wondering why he had stayed. She hoped he didn't want to have a Clark-like discussion of what had transpired.

"Good morning," he said. There was the faintest bit of the Bat in his voice.

"Um. Good morning." She wished she could force the faint tremble out of her voice. It made her sound like a schoolgirl—like she was waiting with bated breath to hear if he would kick her to the curb now.

She hated that.

He didn't look back at her. "This city needs me, you know," he said instead. He was remarkably still. No gestures or glancing at her to see how she took it.

"I know." It scared her a little that he had jumped straight to a speech. Was he that sorry for what they had shared last night?

"Rachel… I tried to… I got her killed, you know. That's what happened. I tried to save her and save the city, but in the end I can't do both."

Her throat was dry. She moved across the room, checking on the coffee. He'd already brewed a pot, leaving a mug out beside it. The casual thoughtfulness made her shudder a little bit. "Sometimes bad things happen in this business."

"Yes. And I'm not… pushing you away won't make you any safer. Pulling you closer won't make you any safer. Both have risks and rewards. I don't know if you really want to be in my life or not, but you have to know that no matter how close you get to me… you still come in second."

It was harsh and cold. Despite all the ways he was similar to Clark, all the drives that made him do the same things, he was terribly different, in the end. Where Clark couldn't act in cold blood like this, couldn't hurt people, would put off confrontation as long as possible, Bruce was immediate. It was searing, but it was also comforting. He wasn't telling her to leave, or that she couldn't be any part of his life.

Honest, yet brutal. She could live with that.

She poured herself a cup of coffee. "Coffee?"

He shook his head. "Caffeine makes me… edgy."

She almost choked on her mouthful of heavenly brew. She swallowed carefully, trying not to laugh at him. "Edgier, anyway," she corrected.

He smiled, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. "What are you thinking?"

She thought for a long moment about how to answer that. Honesty was the best policy, but the most honest answer was also the most brutal.

Still, the way he'd chosen to do this… he deserved the honest answer in return, after the pains he'd taken to be honest with her.

"I'm thinking about Solomon Grundy," she said quietly. "I'm wondering just how far you're willing to go to take him down."

He grunted. "Zombie or not, I don't kill. It's sort of a rule. And I try to make them—the mob—think I will… but you worked that all out once already, didn't you?"

"I did," she replied.

"But somebody like this… requires lengths I am not willing to go to. Is that what you're thinking?"

She took a deep breath. "Yeah."

He smiled. "I've been thinking about that too."

2.

Lucius was waiting for them in an underground parking garage. It was white, so white it made her eyes hurt when they first walked into it. And big. Wide expanses of empty space.

And cars. Various black cars.

"I'm thinking of something more visible, more theatrical," said Lucius. "And better capable of vanishing and becoming plain vanilla than the pseudo vans. What do you think?"

He was standing there in a dark suit between two cars that were so clearly Bat-cars of some sort that they were almost camp, and Chloe couldn't help the giggle.

"She saw through the charade," said Bruce, before she could attempt to tease Fox in any way. That was a little unfair, but consistent.

Lucius chuckled. "I did wonder how long that would take. Well, well, Miss Sullivan. Any additional insights you'd like to share at this time?"

The twinkle was back in his eye. He loved this—loved playing head games, bending reality, achieving the illusion of the unstoppable Batman.

She grinned back at him. "World's greatest detective, huh? You guys just love making the Bat seem unstoppable."

"That's the whole point, Miss Sullivan," he said, his voice just a tad paternal. But he could get away with it, mostly because it sounded affectionate rather than patronizing. She wondered just how much he got away with in the boardroom because he said it in that warm, grandfatherly voice. "If he's unstoppable, unkillable, unflappable, then no criminal is safe. How do we make these criminals feel less safe?"

"We prove to them that no matter what kind of firepower they pull out of their butts, he does one better. We prove to them that he can't be boxed in. They called in a lateral thinker, who's threatening innocents. There's only one answer to that."

3.

Eddie was tapping his foot on the ground, adjusting the green tee, smoothing it down over his stomach. "I wonder if I could wear some theatrical costume," he said sagely.

Grundy just grunted. He was having one of his moods again, far-off and distant.

Eddie continued as if the brute were still lucid. "I don't really have the figure for it; I'd have to start working out. It seems like a lot of work, but I suppose it'd be worth it. What do you think? Giant death-trap, for the Bat?"

There was no answer. That was okay. Eddie preferred answering his own questions anyway. He hated having questions answered, in fact. He liked asking questions nobody else could answer. It was tidier that way. Like a lie, but completely true.

He liked working for the mob. In those times he had a job he'd go off the medication. The pills made him more like Grundy than he would have liked, just a dull, normal idiot. And working… In those times he had a job he'd go off the medication.

He hated being normal.

There was a knock at the door. He moved over to it slowly, listening carefully. There was a gun on the table, but he didn't bother going for it. That was mundane, normal. He wanted to believe he was above that sort of game at this point. "Who is it?" he asked, putting a hand on the doorknob.

"Chloe Sullivan again." She sounded far too cheerful and chipper. He opened the door very slowly, frowning.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

She shrugged. "You paid with money you took from the mob. You thought that somehow the Bat would miss a detail like that?"

"I paid in cash," he pointed out coolly.

She smirked at him. "Yeah, ain't that a bitch? Turns out the Bat has methods for tracking cash transactions in the Narrows. Methods even the cops don't have. Who saw that coming?"

Eddie considered his choices. The gun was on the table, but he was reasonably certain he could get to it before her. "You know, I could have Grundy just tear your arms off. Do you think that would convince your friend that I'm serious?"

She nodded. "I'm sure it would, Eddie. Of course, I'm also pretty sure he's taking you pretty seriously right now. Can I come in?"

He knew it was all a trap. But there was a part of him that loved to gloat, that wanted to see how much she had worked out. How deep into the rabbit hole she'd gone. So he stepped back, giving her a half-bow. "What do you think? Should I wear a theatrical costume?" he asked her.

She looked him up and down critically. "Maybe try something classy, like the Joker did," she responded. "Bright suit-coat, something on the face… the hat was a good touch. Creepy."

He grinned at her. He liked a woman who was able to keep up.

She crossed to the table, examining the gun critically. "Not expecting company?" she asked.

He frowned. "What?"

"Not loaded, no clip in sight… and it's barely a pop gun anyway." She glanced at Grundy, who was playing with a chair, focused downward, away from them. "And you haven't worked him into a killing frenzy. Did you really think you'd dropped off his radar?"

"He's not a god, Chloe," said Eddie critically.

"Well, that's true… and not true. All at once. You like riddles, Eddie? Here's a riddle for you. When is a bat like the grim reaper?"

"When he kills?" asked Eddie, grinning widely. "Are you trying to intimidate me, Chloe?"

She didn't like his familiar use of her name. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn't try to stop him, just shaking her head, turning to face him. To look him in the eye. "Eddie… if you make things ugly… go after me… you threatened me, Eddie. A reporter. A bystander. A normal. Did you see what he did to the Joker? Did you see what he became? You're trying to make the mob evolve, change, be more like him. Be able to face him. But he's in a constant state of flux. Will you find his weakness before he finds you? And what if he kills you? Who carries on your work?"

He wasn't amused by her any more. "I think you mean he's not going to do what I told him," he said coldly. "Is that what you mean?"

She shrugged. "Do I look like I know what's passing through his mind right now?" she asked waspishly, but truthfully. Sincerely. "I'd give every cent I had—I'd rob, beg, borrow—if I thought I could find out what he's thinking, what he's planning. I came here because you're not stupid. You're smart. So why are you doing this? Money? The challenge? Just to prove something?"

"You came to me," he pointed out quickly. "Am I the one trying to prove something? Aren't you trying to prove something here?"

She smirked. "Maybe. But probably not to you. Tell me, Eddie… are you a religious man?"

He squirmed. She was too young and too pretty and too glib. It was getting under his skin. He didn't let people under his skin. "Why the questions?"

"You like questions," she replied. "Riddles without answers. So answer this riddle, Eddie. Why are you so positive you can use me against the Bat? That you can use innocents? He's killed, you know."

"Not innocents. He'll kill the guilty to protect them," said Eddie, too rattled by her talking. "And, anyway, that's not the important thing. That's not… ugh. Riddle! Riddles are so much safer, so much more right… answer this riddle! Why does a mostly sane man turn to a madman in times of need?"

"You hired Crane because he has insights into the big black Bat, of course," replied Chloe scornfully.

"Yes! I needed that edge. And what did he tell me? That's not really a riddle, but it's a good question. He told me about the Bat's one weakness! It was a test, you know. The first time. Going to the Bat. Taking you out from under his nose. That's why I wasn't there. I had no confidence it would work. And damn my running mouth!!"

"You sent Crane to get me because he wasn't afraid; he knew he was safe," said Chloe, smiling radiantly as things came together in her mind. Like him, she loved finding the answers. "You gave us that serum… what was it?"

He scowled at her. "You didn't use it, and it made me angry. Instead you used some kind of super-power I didn't know about… thrashed them into submission. Didn't use my gift at all! Why not?"

"Fruit of the poison tree. Owe you something? The Bat doesn't need you, doesn't want you. Your toy might not have even worked." She drew the vial out of her purse, holding it up close to her eye, examining it.

"It cost a lot of money," he said waspishly.

"Then it would be a shame to waste it," she replied. "I was wondering… you got this toy the same time you found your zombie-man, didn't you? Your supersoldier with the variable intelligence? That's not a coincidence, is it? You were looking for something to stop supersoldiers. The mob originally hired you to deal with the Trio, to find their off switch. And you came up with this. And a supersoldier. Eddie, you didn't give me Solomon Grundy's off switch, did you?"

He tried to keep perfectly still. He tried to think of a riddle to answer in. A way to spin this so she wouldn't figure it out. But he had to; it was the manner of the compulsion. The nature of the beast on his back. The truth was too powerful for him. "Yes," he replied, his voice a little squeak.

"You knew he'd figure it out eventually, didn't you?" she asked. "Why risk it?"

Eddie tried not to smile. "Because I couldn't use it. Not against them. I don't have… I don't fight. And Grundy's too stupid. I can't do it. Couldn't do it. And they were tearing up the city! They had to be… I thought I could… two birds with one stone."

"You're not all bad, Eddie. I almost hate to do this," she said quietly. "You don't have to be…"

"Solomon! Now!" he yelled, diving for the gun. She grabbed the clip away, pushing him as he passed her and knocking him down over the table. The whole shoddy thing broke, dumping him down to the floor, and somewhere in the muddled mess he lost the gun.

Grundy came lumbering through the door, howling.

He smashed one shoulder into the doorframe and it splintered, not even slowing him down. He lumbered towards Chloe.

She didn't try to move, just flicking the cap off the syringe she'd kept hold of. Waiting.

The door exploded inward, smoke and blackness rushing in the door.

The Bat had arrived.

4.

It had been a mistake to let her play this her way. She wanted to try to talk down Eddie, try to get him to come along quietly. Peacefully. She knew he was smart, and thought maybe that meant he was wise enough not to fight. That he might see he had been beaten.

It was too dangerous. The risk was that she would die here, her life snuffed out on the off chance she could turn a villain good. She had too much regard for the villains, in Batman's opinion.

He entered the room quickly, spinning the cape so that it masked his shape. Flaring it up and using it to misdirect, to force the monster to turn and face him.

The monster turned, spinning one gargantuan arm at him in a punch. His forearms were as thick as barrels, grotesque, misshapen.

Batman usually used his own modified style of fighting. A fast, dirty style that tried to end the fight quickly, tried to take down his enemies as efficiently as possible. That was no good here. He shifted styles smoothly, his mind bottling up all possibilities but the ones that would work here.

When fighting an enemy so much stronger than you, so powerful, you had to redirect their force. In a split-second this all passed through his mind, before the fist could hit him.

He rolled to one side, slamming both palms into the side of Grundy's arm. The impact rocked him all the way up to his injured shoulder, pain like fire exploding. He ignored it. He focused.

Grundy overbalanced, smashing through the wall, and Batman kicked him in the back, sending him toppling into the hall. Chloe yelled, tossing him a hypodermic needle. He took it and lunged, slamming it into Grundy's neck.

The zombie shuddered, lurching away from Batman. He could hear scuffling noises behind him, Eddie trying to get away. But Chloe Sullivan had at least elemental training in self-defense, and she had a stungun. He had to trust her.

He couldn't. It was too much. Too much risk, too much heartbreak if she was hurt. He turned back, twisting one arm to aim the blades in the forearms at Eddie.

But Eddie was down, stunned. And while his attention was off Grundy, the beast got into the staircase, running now, each footfall a thundering impact.

It was stupid. He'd turned his back for one second, and it released this—this wild animal. He headed for the window, knowing that if Grundy took to the street he could catch him. If he dropped into the sewers… Well, then he'd get away.

It took him a minute of circling the building to confirm that the creature had been smart enough to get off the street, to head underground. Or maybe with that chalky skin it didn't like the sun. Either way, it was gone.

He circled back. Chloe had Eddie tied up, and was carefully interrogating him. He looked unharmed, but unhappy. With his mental issues, this was probably worse torture than a beating.

Batman stayed in the window, staring at her.

It wasn't fair. He tried to do things her way—not to be over-protective, not to read too much into one night—and it was already costing him. He'd known that there would be a cost. As much as he tried to be above all this, as much as he tried to be made of steel, he wasn't.

He was just mortal, after all.

He didn't want to cut her out of his life. She'd been here less than a week, and already she was wormed deep within. But she would be leaving, going back to her city and her golden hero who was bulletproof.

He felt like he was drowning.


	9. Chapter 9

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

She found him hiding in his cave, going over the research they'd confiscated from Eddie's lair.

She carefully snuck up on him, trying to get close enough to see him at work. But the minute she passed through the door he turned, setting his work aside, and stood up to meet her.

He was wearing the pants from the Bat-suit, all armor and boots and polish, and a thin undershirt that didn't hide the muscle all along his frame. It also didn't hide the heavy bruises around his shoulder where he'd hurt it so badly, didn't hide the black and blue bruises covering him.

The sight was a little bit off-putting. He was only mortal, after all. No matter how well he pretended to be an immortal, no matter how much he pretended to be unstoppable, he still had limits.

She smiled, a bright yet fake smile. "So, have you tracked down whoever was paying the bills for this job?"

He nodded. "The usual suspects. I'll bring them down eventually."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. She wanted to reassure him somehow, let him know he was winning. Let him know that the more she saw of his operation the more she approved.

He squinted at her. "You don't have to put on a brave face for me. You came down here because you want to say something. Now you're afraid it'll hurt me."

Was she so transparent? Or was he really the world's greatest detective? She pressed her lips together, wishing she had something in her hands she could fiddle with for a moment, buying her time to think. "You're an astonishingly direct man."

"I've had to be." He moved closer, but not close enough to touch her. "You got everything you came to Gotham to get, and then more. You solved my problems, found out my secrets. You've learned about the Bat, you've toppled my worst enemies… you've met Lucius, and Alfred, and all the other parts of my charade. You dug through all my finances, found the shell games we've had to play to use Wayne Enterprises resources for the Bat. You've done a lifetime's worth of work… and you have a life to go back to. A job."

She winced, looking away from him. Staring into the depths of the blackness all around them, the strange reality of this cave.

A place of darkness and blackness. Hidden from the world above, a part of him that they would never see. A place dedicated to protecting the whole world. A place that the world was never going to get to see.

She shuddered a little bit, thinking of their mediocre attempts to do what he was doing. He made everything Oliver did look small by comparison. He made Clark's efforts look miniscule. The scale was so much huger, the intent so much clearer…

She'd thought before that Clark was only capable of being so great because he was so other-worldly. Because a human being couldn't do all this. Oliver, for all his efforts, came in so far down the scale he barely even registered. He did good, sure, but not on a level like this.

She drew a deep breath in. "We've been… a mutual friend has been building a group. Getting together people who have… abilities. Or resources. People who want to make the world a better place."

He blinked. "Are you…? Are you offering to help me?"

She shook her head. "I'm asking for your help. Sometimes things are bigger than one city. Sometimes the whole world is at stake. Sometimes we need more firepower… sometimes it's nice to have a bulletproof man on your side."

He smiled wryly. "Every day it's nice to have a bullet proof man on your side."

She blinked a few times. Was that humor? This side of him didn't have a lot of humor, and even this quick glimpse tugged at her heartstrings.

So she had to be brutal, now. To cut this off quickly. It was what he would do. It was the sort of mental toughness he pressed out. "You let Grundy get away because you were worried about me."

He nodded. "I knew I shouldn't have checked on you—I knew you could take Eddie. It was… a moment of weakness."

"If I did stay you'd have a lot more of those… until something happened. Somebody got killed."

He looked away from her, breaking eye contact. And she knew then that he had already thought about this, already come to this conclusion.

"I don't owe this to the people, you know," he said. He wasn't using the rough Bat-voice now. He was using the Bruce Wayne voice—the carefully cultivated soft voice. She shuddered a little.

"No, you don't."

"I mean, people do owe debts to society. They ought to contribute. This is above and beyond. This is… something they need, and I can give. I give it to them because I choose to. Because I want to. I could keep more for myself… carve out a little bit of life and hope for myself. But for every inch of me that I keep for myself, they suffer."

"You can't give all of yourself to them. That's just… suicide."

"I know." He swallowed, and she saw how much this hurt him. How hard it was for him to cut this off.

But he was going to do it anyway.

"Just promise me," she said. "Promise me that you'll have a life someday. That when the city doesn't need you as much you'll be happy."

A smile ghosted over his lips. "Someday, when Gotham's crime rates are down to simply squalorous? Someday, when this city isn't quite so bad? Maybe. Alfred likes to keep me… grounded. Try to keep me alive."

She tried to say how she felt about him, then. Tried to say how much she wanted to stay here, to play his sidekick for a while. She wanted so very much to let him know.

He reached out, touching her cheek. Just a ghost of a touch, and then it was gone.

"I'll give you a ride back to your hotel," he said.

2.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Afterwards, sitting along in her room and going over her notes, she decided that she wouldn't tell Clark too many of the details about this.

Too many. She'd have to convince him somehow that the Bat was on the same side as he was. Convince him that the whole Gotham operation was about saving lives, not taking them. That despite his confrontation with the Bat, they could work together.

But they'd lied to each other too much. They'd broken trust so often… how could she convince him?

She sat down on the bed and stared at her cell phone for a while. Did she dare call him back here? To Batman's city? Here, in this city, he might just march up to Bruce and demand a confrontation. And that wouldn't do at all.

Perhaps Oliver. She could work with Oliver. They needed to solidify the relationship, make Bruce a solid, tangible part of the work Oliver was trying to do.

So she called him.

"Oliver? I need you to come to Gotham… no, it's not trouble. It's… yeah, him. You've tried getting in touch with him before? Yeah, I can see how it would be hard. No, I've made contact. Yes, I have. Yes, he's definitely League material. No… No, better than that. No. No. Think bigger, Oliver. Think much, much bigger. No, I'm not kidding."

3.

Oliver was looking just a little bit green around the gills when he showed up at her hotel room, dressed in an expensive suit. "I hit Gotham the minute I heard about this guy," he said, sweeping in without bothering to say hello. "I tried to meet him, tried lurking about in costume, even tried posting messages. Nothing."

"He's a little secretive," she said, letting Oliver get away with brushing off a normal hello. Usually she'd stop him, demand to know why he was on edge. Demand that he be at least a little courteous. After all, if he started slipping up around her sooner or later he'd slip up in public.

He paced around the room, not quite looking at her. "Secretive? I'm secretive. Clark's secretive. I've been paying attention… I know you and I don't always see eye to eye on things, and I assumed I'd have to talk you into going along with trying to recruit this guy… he's dark, Chloe. Darker than me. Way darker than Clark is comfortable being. Are you okay with that?"

He was dark. Perhaps darker than Oliver realized. He'd been born in great tragedy, and had raised himself into this creature of the night. Oliver played at Robin Hood, at righting big wrongs. Taking down big corporations who were acting unconsciousably. Taking out super-powered threats. He wasn't like Bruce at all, when you came right down to it.

Not least because of his refusal to abide by Clark's Thou Shalt Not Kill.

"He has a no-killing rule, same as Clark," she said flatly.

He scoffed. "Then he's already broken it."

How could she explain this? "That's a lie to scare people. That's the sort of thing he does. Oliver, this guy is… he's not operating on the same scale we are."

"No kidding. We save the world. He's obsessed with one little city in the world." Oliver rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So, did you figure out who he is? This would be a lot easier if I could just approach him in person?"

Chloe hesitated. She was used to thinking of her friends as the ones in control. The grownups who needed to be brought into the loop to take care of business, to arrange things so that others wouldn't allow their stupidity to bring the whole situation down.

Oliver picked up on this immediately, spinning around. "You did, but you don't want to tell me," he guessed.

Chloe shrugged. "He has reasons for his secrets."

"And I don't?" asked Oliver.

"I didn't tell him who you were, either. It would just… it would imbalance things. If you knew. Give you power over him. I can't give that to you."

He was surprised. Flabbergasted. "I can understand when you flutter between Clark and me… I mean, he's been your best friend forever, and you two are close. But to show more loyalty to the Batman than me…"

"Ollie!" she snapped, putting a little force into it. This surprised him, and that chin came up.

"What?" he asked, already furious. That temper of his would get him in trouble some day.

She shook her head. "I brought you in here. I've brought you a possible alliance with somebody who's in the business. I didn't have to do that, and I didn't have to bring you in. I could have just worked with Clark. But I thought you'd be more reasonable about this than Clark, would talk to the guy. So… you brought your costume?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"Good. Get masked up—you're definitely not giving him your secret identity right off the bat."

4.

Arranging a meeting was a little delicate. She was aware Bruce would resist if she pushed too hard. She was aware that he had probably known Ollie was in town last time. He didn't miss much at all. That meant he had seen him and decided to avoid him.

Probably because he thought Oliver was just a small-time operator. Possibly he thought a guy with a bow and arrow was just too focused on killing to be a viable ally. Worse still, he might have thought Oliver was just a criminal.

So she called Bruce. "Hey, I've got a friend I'd like you to meet," she said.

"A friend?" he said suspiciously.

"Not the same one as before. I'll meet you… well, in the usual place."

5.

She sat and waited on that cold rooftop for almost an hour before he showed up. She was pretty sure he'd noticed her up here, overlooking the police station roof, but had waited until scouting out Oliver a little better.

Oliver was behind her, cloaked in shadows. He thought he was invisible. Chloe wasn't sure how anybody could see him back there, but knew that Bruce would know he was there. Might have looked at him with night-vision goggles. Had possibly already broken the secret of his identity.

Bruce made a show of looking behind her, right at Oliver. "This your friend?" he asked in that rasping, demonic voice.

She had to control the shudder that almost made her look weak. She wouldn't mind Bruce seeing it—seeing how he effected how, how far they were now from this morning—but she didn't want Oliver to see he was getting to her.

"This is our Green Arrow," she said, waving a hand behind her.

Bruce's mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. It was so faint, so dim, nobody else would have seen it. But she knew what the laugh was for.

He didn't offer to shake his hand or greet Oliver in any way. He was slightly hunched over, his cape pooling around him. Hiding the shape of his body, the appearance of him. Hiding his humanity.

He waited patiently, forcing her to keep talking. She wondered just what he thought of this turn of events, but didn't dare ask him.

"Our group could use somebody like you," she said. Her mouth was dry, almost sandy. "Somebody with a clear direction. Somebody who can direct it."

"And what does your organization do right now?" he asked roughly.

"Make the world a better place," said Oliver, stepping forward.

"By stealing from the rich to give to the poor, a modern-day Robin Hood?" asked the Bat, his voice so rough it made Chloe's knees wobble just a little. "By blowing up major pharmaceuticals labs?"

"Do you know what was in those labs?" asked Oliver calmly, confidently. "We made sure all the people were out. Word out here is you haven't been quite so careful."

Bruce's eyes shifted to Chloe, asking her a question with no words and even eyebrows to raise; just that cold, inhuman look.

She said nothing, but glanced back at Oliver with a little bit of surprise. She'd told him this wasn't true, but it was clear he wasn't trusting her entirely on this. He thought she wasn't seeing the Batman clearly, was blinded with hero worship.

So far from the truth, and yet so close…

Batman moved closer to Oliver, each movement terrifyingly slow. "The things I do here are necessary." His voice was like steel, cold and hard. It could cut right through your soul. "The evil I fight here must fear me. The people I protect should not want to be me. You wear a colorful costume because you want to be seen, because you want people to recognize you and worship you. Green is a color of archers and of swashbucklers. Of good, of heroes. I wear black. Do you need to know more than that?"

Oliver's mouth tightened. "You have no idea the scope of the battles we fight," he said.

"I know military-grade super-soldiers got set loose in my city, and that bulletproof men are out there," replied Bruce. He straightened up slowly, jutting his chin out. Getting into Oliver's face without even moving. "What would you do to fight a bulletproof man?"

Chloe was familiar with Oliver's recruiting techniques. She'd been there when he had found other allies, after all. She'd led him to new 'talent' before.

Oliver liked to see them in action. He had to test their limits for himself. Needed to see what they brought to the table.

Chloe had seen him beat some of the recruits up, and had seen some of them take him down. She knew that he wasn't an easy man to beat, and that he knew at least half a dozen different martial arts. In hand to hand he was deadly. He trained constantly.

He punched Bruce in the face, a rabbit-punch from the hip that knocked Batman back.

Then he stepped in to attack again.

The cape swirled up as if alive, blocking him. The thick material slowed him up, and before he could grab it and try to use it as leverage against Batman it was wrapped around his arms, pinning him, and Bruce was behind him somehow.

"Don't try that again," rasped Bruce.

Oliver spun himself free, rolling across the ground and spinning to his feet, aiming a kick at Bruce's head. But the Batman was already moving around him, blocking with his cape, with the armor he wore.

Then they were grappling. Chloe had some basic familiarity with martial arts, and she could recognize the blows Oliver tried. He relied mostly on brutal close-in fighting styles.

And she knew that Bruce's style was one she'd never seen before, a home-brewed system of dirty fighting and close blows that relied on his strength and power, but also could be modified to keep a stronger opponent from touching him, a quick knees-and-elbows technique that could be employed against a crowd.

Oliver was strong and fast, and he stayed fit. But Chloe knew that Bruce's obsessive training left no room for days off. That even with broken ribs he worked out, trained harder. That he tested the very bounds of possibility.

It was over very fast, and then Oliver was on the ground on his chest, trying to get up. Bruce put a foot on his back, almost gently, holding him down.

Chloe took a deep breath, letting it slowly. "Are we done with the part of the evening where you boys try to impress me with how macho-ly you can pound each other's faces?" she asked lightly.

Bruce stepped back, letting Oliver up. "I have a city to protect," he said flatly. "You want to play at hero, that's fine. You need help because the world is in danger? Call me and tell me. Your friend here knows how to get in touch with me." Something about the way he said 'world is in danger' was too contemptuous. As if he didn't really believe there was anything worse than a city wracked by crime out there.

Then he turned and jumped off the roof, the cape flaring out behind him. Gone into the night.

6.

Afterwards, back in her hotel room, Oliver sulked a little bit. He took his shirt off and examined his bruises in the bathroom mirror, sighing critically and loudly.

Chloe tried to ignore him, packing her things. "That's only part of the guy," she said quietly. "Martial arts, I mean. He has gadgets, and he has… He's smart."

"How smart can he be?" asked Oliver rhetorically, pulling on a white shirt and walking out of the bathroom. "He doesn't think the world needs a whole lot of saving, after all."

Chloe picked up her stungun, checking the charge before stowing it in her purse. "Still, he didn't say no. He said call me. That means he wants distance, but he could be useful, if things get bad."

"When are things not bad?" asked Oliver rhetorically, buttoning his shirt up. "By the by, while we're here in town I need to drop in on an old friend."

She looked down and away, thinking hard. If he meant Bruce that would make things terribly, terribly awkward. And it would make it easy for Bruce to figure out exactly who the emerald archer was. "Oh? Who's that?" she asked as lightly as she could.

He laughed. "It's not a girl, Chloe, honest. Well, it is a girl, but not like that. She was one of my financial advisors for a while, and she's got an office here in Gotham. I've been trying to lure her back from Wayne Industries for a while, and it would criminal to waste an opportunity to go see her."

Chloe nodded, smiling. "Sure, we can do that."

7.

She was waiting in the car for Oliver to return from the office building when she spotted Bruce standing on the sidewalk, watching her. He was alone, which was a surprise, but she supposed he had dragged himself away from whatever business he was supposed to be on to get here.

He strode over to her, knocking on the window. She rolled it down slowly, watching him.

"Should I assign any special significance to you showing up at one of my offices and sending your pointy friend in there?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "You—it's a total coincidence. I swear. I didn't tell him these were your offices. He's… did you see…?"

"Oliver's face?" He smirked, just a little bit of arrogance coming through now. "I actually broke his cover last time he came to town to try to meet me, you know. The fact that he's a corporate rival and his company is involved in a bit of military development of its own…doesn't thrill me."

Her heart sped up. "What military development."

He smiled lazily. "The kind that amazingly doesn't turn a profit? The kind a harsh observer might call a private army."

Oh, right, _that_ kind of military development. The kind that kept Chloe in the kind of tools that allowed her to hack computers she would otherwise have been entirely stumped by. The kind that allowed her coordinate world-wide communications between a bunch of super-powered teens.

She smiled tightly. "Oh, yes," she said.

He glanced back the way Oliver had gone. "I haven't paid too much attention to what's been happening in Metropolis… I see now that maybe I should be paying closer attention."

She licked her lips. "Oh?"

He turned his full attention back to her. "Because people who mean well but go halfway are dangerous. Because something like this needs to be done right… and your friends are just a little bit sketchy, hmm?"

She frowned at him. Criticism of Oliver was easy to take—although they shared many goals, she had never entirely trusted him. But criticism of Clark, her oldest and dearest friend? That was a bit harder to take. In the way that the Titanic was a bit sunk.

She tried to bite back the bile and rage. "You don't know these people," she hissed. "Come along with me back to Metropolis—let me show you what kind of people they really are!"

He arched an eyebrow at her, his mask firmly back in place suddenly. For a second she didn't know why, and thought he was just blocking her out because he could, but then Oliver appeared behind Bruce.

"Hi," said Oliver, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Is this guy bothering you, Chloe?" As he spoke he spun Bruce around, and Chloe saw the shock on his face when he recognized Bruce.

"Oliver Queen?" said Bruce, feigning surprise. Doing it scarily well.

"Wayne," said Oliver. He didn't react as if they were sworn enemies, which was good. But he didn't look friendly, either.

"Friend of yours?" asked Bruce, glancing back at Chloe. "You should be careful with this one. You know she's a reporter, right?"

"I know," said Oliver, through clenched teeth. "Thanks for the interest. Excuse us."

Oliver got back in the car and started it without another word, pulling out into traffic.

"Be careful of that guy, Chloe," he said flatly. "He's a train wreck in progress."


	10. Chapter 10

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

1.

Clark found her in her basement, going over printouts of financial statements she'd stolen from Oliver.

He knocked on the door lightly, catching her attention. Her eyes flipped up to him just a hair too fast, too frantically, and she hoped desperately he didn't notice she was as jumpy as a rabbit.

"Hey, Chloe," he said gently, descending the stairs slowly. His eyes scanned the room, stopping briefly on every empty coffee cup. On the pot of coffee brewing now. On the piles of paper everywhere. "In the middle of a project?"

Was this an intervention? It was hard to tell with Clark. He was also so gentle about trying to pry her away from her obsessions. "Yeah… you could say that. I'm just… just tracking down some irregularities in Oliver's book-keeping that don't look like they have a whole lot to do with… with the stuff I do for him."

He nodded. "Oliver said that you went back to Gotham with him, introduced him to your big bat friend," he said. His voice was a touch rough now, almost angry.

Her eyes narrowed. Intervening because she was working too hard was one thing. (and she didn't want to think really hard about why she had buried herself in a pile of not-terribly-urgent work and wasn't about to stop) Coming here about the Bat… that was serious. "Yes, I did."

"Because you trust the Batman, he said." Clark was terribly careful not to say it in a way that sounded like an accusation, but it was precisely that carefulness that clued her in. Of course Clark didn't approve. How could he?

"He could be a powerful ally, Clark," she said, cutting right to the chase.

Clark sighed. "A dangerous ally."

"Do we have any other kind?" she snapped, put off by his attitude.

"We have a problem in Metropolis," he said, crossing his arms. "Luthercorp made some kind of supersoldier, using some of the meteor rock, and part of … well, something else. We brought in Bart, but this guy… somehow he was able to anticipate Bart, and get in front of him. He took him down so quick… I was able to fight him to a standstill, moving as fast as I could, but he's fast, and he's strong."

She looked away. "You want to bring in the Bat because you have somebody too strong for you to punch into submission? It won't work."

"No… of course not." Clark looked mildly offended. "Oliver found a weapon I might be able to use… something Luthercorp's been working on. But when we went looking for it, it had already been stolen… apparently by the Batman."

"What kind of weapon, and where was it stolen from?" she asked automatically.

"It's a modified laser. Supposedly it can break the armor on this thing, give us a shot at it. It needs a power source, but Oliver thinks we can channel my heat-vision into it, use me as the power source. It's a long shot, but… well, we haven't been able to stop the thing any other way."

She sighed, putting down the papers. "I'll make some calls. No promises."

Clark looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. When he looked back, she could have sworn there was a hint of anger in those eyes. "Am I missing something, Chloe? The man's a killer. Is that the kind of person you hang with now?"

"He's not a killer, Clark," she said quietly. "He's a hero. That's the sort of person I've always hung with."

Clark shook his head, seeing only the black and white facts of it. "Right," he said, stomping away up her stairs.

She pulled out her cell phone, waiting until she was sure Clark had been given enough time to get far enough away he'd have to work hard to use his super-hearing to listen in. She could never be entirely safe from him eavesdropping; she knew that with a certainty. At the same time, she had to trust him on this.

She dialed the butler's number, not Bruce's. No point in making this obvious. "Hi, this is Chloe Sullivan… it's official business. Can you tell him to contact me ASAP? It's about the thing tearing up Metropolis. Tell him to check the news if he needs more."

2.

He didn't arrive in the Bat-suit, or in his Batmobile. He didn't arrive with a flourishing cape.

No, that would have been too subtle.

He pulled up into Smallville in a Lamborghini. He drove right up to where she was standing, waiting, and spun the car around, an ostentatious one-eighty that put the door right in front of her.

Putting her hand on the cool metal was like peering into the eyes of God. She felt naked, all her layers of armor stripped away. Could he see into her soul?

When she opened the door he wasn't wearing his plastic mask. His face was serious and real, sober, somber. Terrifying.

"Hey," he said. "Nice dress."

She smoothed her hands down her hips, trying to keep from blurting anything out nervously. "Thanks."

She got in carefully, trying not to look as gawkish and small-town as she felt.

He pulled out, squealing the tires briefly. "So, did you get those tickets to the charity event thing where we can rendezvous with your guy?"

She nodded. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, out of costume. Out in the open."

"If I snuck into Metropolis as Batman, the news would be all over it," he replied. "Besides, like you said earlier, if they see the device they'll know pretty quick that Wayne Enterprises has been all over it. Made the stupid thing work. Installed parts with our logo on the side, even. I could try to obscure it, but if they aren't idiots, they'll put it together. And that puts the finger on me. Better we play it straight, right up front. I already know who your friends are… it seems a bit… well, it starts crossing lines if I don't reciprocate. My official cover is that I'm here for this charity event, taking a pretty girl to a swank Metropolis party."

3.

Walking into the biggest ballroom in Metropolis with Bruce Wayne was probably going to put Chloe on the front page of a lot of papers. She tried walking behind him, but he caught her elbow, pulling her along.

"I appreciate that you don't want to be front-page, but if I show up without at least one pretty girl, people start suspecting there's more to me than girls," he murmured quietly.

Oliver swept over to join them, smiling broadly as if he didn't have a terribly low opinion. "Bruce Wayne and Chloe Sullivan," he said. "There's a duo I was sure I'd never see in this life."

Not his most subtle jab ever. Chloe smiled. "Bruce, I assume you've met Oliver?"

"We did hang at a few of the same haunts together, back in the day," suggested Bruce with a smile. If you weren't listening too closely you might think that he just meant they had hit some bars together. If you were, you'd know he meant rooftops.

Oliver nodded. "Could I steal your date for a minute?" he asked, putting a hand on Chloe's arm.

Bruce smiled, and for just a fraction of a second, Chloe could see a real smile there, not just a plastic one. Real emotion. Amusement. "Oh, of course," he said, turning and signaling a waiter.

Oliver dragged Chloe towards the dance floor. "I thought you said you were bringing Batman to us," he muttered under his breath.

She grinned nervously. "Surprise?"

He stopped dead, his eyes flaring wide. "Chloe, no! I mean, I know I'm a—no! I know that I give off the—no! You're not kidding, are you?"

It was an interesting verbal meltdown. She kept moving forward. "We better go find someplace we can be alone," she muttered.

4.

He took her to an office, where he paced. "This is worse than I could have imagined. I mean, yeah, we've got stuff in common, him and me; but he was one of those guys who just, he just imploded. I met him once or twice when he was a teenager. I mean, you want to talk about lost… he was completely lost. Adrift. He had no useful skills… he wasn't that smart…"

"Do you have a past with this guy?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as cool and uninvolved as possible.

"No," he said. "That would be easier. This guy is so screwed up that he makes guys like me and Lex Luthor look like balanced individuals. He's got issues. And the idea that somebody who blames street criminals for his parents death has been going out and savaging thugs in the night… that is not healthy."

"How is it different from what you do?" she asked sweetly.

"I work towards social justice, towards a better world," he said flatly. "Not just some revenge."

Chloe sighed. "You've taken down one bad company. You've taken out low-level evil. Have you seen the statistics for Gotham? Have you seen what it used to be—what it is now?"

He chuckled. "What it is now? People are more terrified than ever. This Joker rampage… when I saw him on the news, I seriously considered grabbing Clark and heading over there. Of course, that was right in the middle of the whole thing with that alien… Look, get the ray gun from this guy. We won't be working with Batman."

Chloe wondered just how dense Oliver could be. She glanced at the window, where she could see the faintest of silhouettes. "You heard him; he doesn't want to work with you," she said flatly.

Oliver gave a start. "No way," he said, as the window swung open. "I have security systems. Great security systems!"

"Oh, they're good," replied Bruce. "But if you're going to lurk on rooftops and play around in green tights you might just want to find some way to override security systems."

"That sounds like something that would be dangerous in the wrong hands," said Oliver, folding his arms over his chest.

Bruce smiled, a plastic smile. "The wrong hands? You're playing at hero, but you have no idea what that takes. You want to be seen, to be admired, to be glorified. But if you do that, then others will rise up and try to do the same thing—and will they equipped as you are? Will they be aware that you wear a vest that will probably stop a bullet? Will they have grapple-guns that can get them out of danger in a hurry? Will they be able to afford night-vision goggles and a police-band scanner? Will they have a command center above the city, with somebody looking out for them? You'll inspire them, and they'll get themselves killed. You'll teach them an ordinary man can do all that… I don't inspire them to imitate me, not any more."

Oliver laughed. "Great speech. So you think beating up thugs will protect your city? Look at the top, man! Look at the top! Your mayor is hip-deep in all the corruption—why else would the police be so corrupt? Your city is burning itself away from the inside! The inside, man!

"Nobody's safe from the Bat," said Bruce darkly. "Tell me about your personal army."

Oliver squared his shoulders. "We save the world."

Bruce didn't laugh. He didn't have to. His oppressive silence hung in the air for a minute.

Chloe cleared her throat. "You have the device?" she asked, keeping her voice level. Hoping that if she acted normal and sane they would follow her lead.

Bruce shrugged, inclining his head towards Oliver. "I have a concern about this, you know. A large one."

Oliver gritted his teeth. "Is that a 'I won't give you what you need to save thousands or even tens of thousands of people from death'? Is that what you said?"

Bruce tilted his head slightly. "So, the creature you've come in contact with… this supersoldier augmented with alien radiation and anchored in genetic manipulation—how much do you know about it?"

"I know that nothing I've tried can break through its skin!" snarled Oliver. "Look, let's just be honest, here. I don't like you. You don't like me. But this thing… have you seen the videos? Chloe had the videos. It killed a lot of people. When it surfaces next it might just kill more. I have the team; I have the people to stop something like this. Whatever you have is not enough. Do you understand that?"

Bruce smiled again, but this time it was hard. It wasn't the man, just the bat. "First I need you to show me the lab this thing was built in."

5.

Chloe wasn't invited on their midnight excursion. Instead she found herself hiding out in one of Oliver's buildings running communications. Tonight she had a direct line to Bruce as well as one to Oliver.

She wished she could have been there. Oliver tended to rely on running and jumping to get from place to place. Bruce had brought at least one light-weight glider and some kind of motorcycle, and she knew that his entire gear had somehow fit in two tiny suitcases.

They were just going through the destroyed remains of a Luthercorp lab, not actually assaulting anything, but she couldn't help feeling anxious. Before she'd known who he was, it hadn't been so terrifying to her to think of the Batman in action. But she'd seen him without the armor, and knew that he was a man.

He could die out there.

Tonight. Any night. He wasn't invulnerable. He wasn't immortal. He was just a man.

"Watchtower, we're approaching it. Are the satellites showing any activity in there?" asked Oliver.

"Negative, Green Arrow."

They weren't pulling any other League members in. Oliver didn't want too many of them meeting Bruce, not until he was sure of him. It limited their liability if Bruce turned on them, limited his ability to harm the League.

"We're inside," reported Oliver.

She watched them, small blips of heat on her screens. Moving across an abandoned lab.

"Not much to see here," said Oliver. "I mean, unless you happen to be a dedicated scientist as well as a vigilante."

"Doors were broken in from the outside," replied Bruce. "Somebody was shot, right there. Probably in the back. Do we have any security footage from this event?"

"No. What are you implying?"

"Nothing. Yet. Just adding the facts together."

Oliver hadn't really believed her when she told him that Bruce was smart. He hadn't been listening. But Chloe hadn't said it idly. He was too fast, too quick. Impossible to pin down.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Oliver. "There's no blood."

"Clean spot. Blood's been wiped up with bleach, but it's too clean, too much bleach. They contaminated the crime scene, cleaned up after somebody. Somebody strong enough to break through a military grade door, somebody after their supersoldier. Somebody who pulled it out intact, carefully extracted it. Watchtower, have any other Luthercorp holdings been hit like this?"

Chloe quickly accessed a list of insurance claims. "Uh, two warehouses in Metropolis, one of their Ohio structures, and some overseas holdings have been leveled in the last few weeks."

"Were they looking for this supersoldier, or something else?" asked Bruce rhetorically. "Here, get some samples of the wall where the fluid from the tank splashed on it… I want to run some tests."

"These are a lot of hoops to jump through for a laser," growled Oliver.

Bruce's comm unit went dead. On the satellite his heat signature blinked out.

"Uh, Green Arrow, where's the Bat?" asked Chloe nervously.

"He's right behind… uh, Watchtower, do you still have satellites…?"

"Yeah. He just dropped off them."

"There… there! I can hear his glider. Can he shield his heat signature?"

Chloe sent a command up to the satellite, waiting patiently for it to hear it. "Possibly. But not for long, not if I can… there!"

The satellite expanded its focus, showing her more than just the expected heat of humans. She could see a plainly muffled heat signature as it passed quickly off the screen, heading west.

"He's off comm." Oliver sounded disappointed, maybe even a little angry.

"Did he see something important?" asked Chloe, leaning forward.

"I didn't. I doubt he did. I'm heading back. Call the Big Blue Boyscout Blur up, have him meet you at your location. Just in case. I've got backup standing by to join me. I'll head for the city. Anything on the news so far about the supersoldier?"

Chloe closed her eyes. "No, nothing."

This didn't make any sense. Why had Bruce run like that? Had he seen something he didn't like? Did he get something he was looking for?

Her cell phone rang.

She muted the communications link, opening the phone. "Yes?" she said.

"Listen to me." Bruce's voice was firm and modulated, as if he was choosing his words carefully. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth.

"Bruce, why did you…? Okay, I'm listening."

"Good. Your friend was lying. There were three tanks, and when I asked him to get the fluid, he turned to the one furthest from him, the one the monster had been in."

"How do you know…?"

"I could see the footprints leading up to it."

"What if he saw those?"

"Doubtful. He didn't notice any of the other footprints. Not the ones leading right up to the fellow that had been shot and dragged away. He knew which tank had the creature in it… Chloe, he was lying to me! Lying!" He sounded frustrated.

"I can ask him why, Bruce."

"I've already figured that out. I was afraid of this. He has a vendetta against these people… from the look on his face when you were pulling up those records of attacks, I'd guess he was behind at least some of them. This time he found something he didn't expect, something bigger than what he wanted. But he killed a person here, and I'm done working with him."

"What about the creature—the laser?" she asked desperately.

"You should have asked for a demonstration of the laser before," he said sadly. "I'm afraid that I completely disabled it and destroyed the technology already. Some things are too dangerous… I had no intention of ever handing it over to your friend. I'm sorry, and I wish things weren't this way… I'm going to go deal with the supersoldier. He should be showing up on the news any minute now. His attacks are following a fixed cycle. I'm going to anticipate, to be in the place he's going to be."

"Bruce!" she hissed out, surprised he had found time to dig this up while planning an assault with Oliver. Or had that always been to keep Oliver busy while he dug through things?

"I can't work with people I can't trust," said Bruce flatly.

"You'll never be able to trust anybody, Bruce!" she said, her voice rising.

He didn't reply for a moment. "I know," he said finally. "It's not something I'm happy about, but it's the way it has to be, Chloe.

Then he hung up on her.

6.

For a minute she just stared at the phone. Oliver wanted her to call Clark, to pull him to her side, to protect her. Oliver assumed that Bruce was turning on them, that this was about dividing and conquering.

He never did think much about the big picture.

Chloe was uniquely positioned to know just what was for the best here, just what needed to happen. She was probably the only one here who knew what was really going on, here and now. She could see what Bruce was doing. She could see where this was going.

So she called Clark.

"Clark, it's Chloe; don't talk, just listen. The Bat has found a pattern, and he's going to go face the creature by himself. No laser. He has a plan, and he doesn't want backup, but I think he's going to get himself killed. Clark, you've got to go help him!"

7.

Bruce landed the glider on the roof of one of the taller buildings in Metropolis, collapsing it into a brief-case-sized bundle in a few seconds. The spent rocket he snapped into two pieces, making sure that none of the highly proprietary fuel was left to be analyzed.

The heads-up gear he quickly took apart, stowing it in his belt. His ridiculously over-stuffed belt. He was going to have to start preparing different belts ahead of time, stuffed with specialized toolkits. He already had too much gear to fit, and choosing it out based on mission parameters was taking too long.

He was wearing the full battle rig he'd designed for fighting the Trio in Gotham; maximum hitting power and maximum maneuverability. It wasn't going to do the trick here, but it was his best chance.

He also had the modified laser. He took it out and began assembling it, checking to see that the delicate mirrors and plates were still in place.

A laser meant to cut through rock; an enemy with some kind of energy armor field. This felt too much like a set-up, too much like he only had half the picture. And these 'allies' Chloe had found—her friends—were in this up to their ears. They were lying to each other, and they were lying to him.

So he charged the weapon, and checked his watch. Any minute now, somewhere in the city, something would go down.

So he turned the radio, blinking firmly. "Alfred, do you have anything?"

Alfred was set up in a black van in the middle of Metropolis, with all the electronics money could buy. Teaching him to use the computers could be a hassle—Alfred hated anything with a keyboard with a burning passion—but if anything was going on, he'd know about it.

"Not yet, sir," replied Alfred, his voice clipped. "You should know that she did call for reinforcements, and the big fellow is with her now. They're arguing."

Bruce smiled. "Good. If he's sidelined, we can do this right. Let me know the minute the monsters shows himself."


	11. Chapter 11

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

Note: I've tried to be a little loose with continuity, but to be clear; this is pre-Doomsday, so this is a Chloe who never dated Oliver.

Further Note: So, I'm sure you all noticed that two things happened that slowed my writing. A, I finished Smallville. And tucked in the end was a Batman reference! Through Chloe! And it made my stuff more counter-canonical, not less. (sigh) And then I watched The Dark Knight Rises! And it also made my stuff more counter-canonical, not less. So, um.

Like many fanfiction authors, I rely on blank spaces in canon, those openings. The places where it would naturally fit. When it doesn't quite so naturally fit, then I just start gibbering. Madly. So I'm afraid that I'm going to wrap this up with two or three more updates, instead of the planned longer arc. Just because.

So, here goes.

1.

It all went sideways in a rush, the way it always did when things went wrong. They never went wrong slowly, or logically. And it always hurt.

Bruce was still trying to heal his previously dislocated shoulder, still trying to heal those broken ribs. He was in rough shape now, limping along. Facing one superhuman threat was more than enough.

The big guy appeared out of nowhere, wearing that silly jean jacket and a red tee. His face was almost comically sincere and forthright, and he grabbed Bruce with hands that were iron.

"Stop," he said, as if his power weren't enough to ensure it.

Bruce didn't struggle. What was the point, against this guy? He put a hand on his belt, where he'd hidden the green rock inside lead lining. "So, that argument didn't last long," he said, just a touch angry.

The big guy's eyes narrowed. "You've bugged Chloe? I swear, if you hurt her…"

Bruce slid his eyes sideways. "You gonna stand here and hold me while your town gets torn to pieces?"

"I don't trust you!" snarled the big man, lifting Bruce off the ground like he was hoisting an empty cardboard box. His hands were tight, bruising, even through the suit.

Bruce smiled. It wasn't the man smiling now, it was the animal part of his mind. The cold, vicious side of himself. Because when the other guy starts resorting to violence, he knew he'd won. "You want to go down this path? Beat me just because you can?" he asked softly.

He had to egg this man on. "Clark" came off like a boy scout, like a little kid, still sure everybody was good inside. How deep did that go? If it was only skin deep, if it was a cover, over a lot of rage and anger, then Bruce needed to know. This one was more powerful than any of the others—they deferred to him, they thought of him as their hammer, their leader. Even Chloe.

If he was an unstable man-child, he had to be broken now, before he became even more powerful.

Clark's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think this is about power? You think this is about what I can do? You don't know me at all."

"Then why?" rasped Bruce.

"Because what I am… what I have become… what I can do…" He hoisted Bruce just a fraction of an inch higher. "You don't understand at all why I can't be like you. You say you want to do the right thing, but everybody knows you kill. If people knew what I was, if they knew what I could do… they would be afraid of me. Maybe they'd be right to be afraid of me. Because if I let one little drop of darkness into me… what will I become? If I can step over that line, even a little bit, if I can kill, then I become god, don't I? I get to decide who's good enough to live. I get to decide who's good enough to die. And for people like you and me, who do things nobody else can do, that will never, ever be right. Maybe it starts with somebody who has to die, somebody who only does evil. Then it's somebody who sometimes does evil. Then it's somebody who never does good. Morality has to be absolute, for us who walk rooftops, for us who are gods."

It was a good speech. It was perilously close to the speech Bruce had given to Oliver.

"Your Green friend doesn't believe all that," grunted Bruce.

Clark lowered him a bit, enough for his feet to touch the ground. "No, he wouldn't, would he? Oliver… Oliver isn't me. Oliver doesn't necessarily believe that. It's a… a point of contention. Between us. Wait. Are you…? Was this…? You're _testing_ me!"

Bruce knew enough gross anatomy to know how to break the grip of somebody stronger than him. Even somebody worlds stronger than him. Bones moved a certain way. Human anatomy was human anatomy.

But this guy's tendons were like steel cables. And his bones were as solid as railroad ties.

Clark let go. "You're testing me." He sounded astonished by this, as if it were the strangest thing he had ever heard. "What gives you the right? What makes you think you can just…?"

"**I **give me the right!" roared Bruce. "You're not human; and I don't think you ever were! You're some kind of other, some kind of alien… and you have power unimaginable. If you have even the slightest crack in your control… if you're even slightly off…"

He didn't bother finishing the sentence. Clark flinched away from him, letting go. Bruce settled back on his heels, not bothering to adopt any sort of stance. The man could go super-sonic; no stance would give him any kind of advantage.

The only advantage here was psychological. So he sneered, leaning forward. Invading Clark's personal space. "You're running around playing hero, but you can do more damage than anything out there."

"I can save more than anybody out there, too," replied Clark.

"But you haven't; you don't! Do the bad guys even know you exist? Do they know what you can do? Do they fear the night, the day, the sun, the moon?"

Clark took a deep breath. "Fear shouldn't be what they feel when they see me coming," he said quietly.

Bruce laughed. "And that's why you try so hard to keep them from seeing you coming."

Clark's nostrils flared.

"You hide in the darkness, you hide your face—"

"How am I supposed to keep those around me safe. If they know who I am, then they'll just kill those close to me. If they know what I can do… then they'll hurt those I love. They'll kill Chloe first. Then… then…" He stopped, choking up. There were people closer to him, people he loved.

Bruce drew back, letting the cape cover all of him. "The answer is staring you in the face," he said dryly.

For a minute they just stood there regarding each other. Thinking about what they had learned.

"You don't kill, do you?" asked Clark.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if you could kill… if you would kill… then there'd be no need to test me. Because you'd be in favor of my failing. You'd think that was good, and just, and right. Because failure is when I kill, isn't it? You're testing me to make sure I'm good enough to do this. Everybody else just cares whether or not I have the stomach to do this… I've had to draw this line, this moral line, and even Chloe doesn't like it. Even Ollie. They want me to do what's… what's _expedient._ What would get the job done. You… don't."

"You know what gets the job done for me?" growled Bruce. "Lying. Pretending that I would kill. Taking credit for other people's murders, so that I can scare them."

Clark nodded thoughtfully. "So what are you going to do, when you face this guy? This… supersoldier monster. I can't hurt him, not unless you can disable all his electronics with that fancy laser."

"I destroyed the laser when I realized the military applications," said Bruce. "This…" He raised the device he had cobbled together. "This is a cutting laser from my lab that I've rigged up to try to analyze the armor he's wearing. I'm going to try to figure out a way through the armor on the fly."

"It's terribly fast."

"I know."

"And because it gets its strength from the meteor rocks…"

"It kills you being near it. Yeah. If I can get a hole in the armor, are you precise enough with that laser vision of yours to take a shot?"

Clark hesitated. "I'm not sure. At that distance… it'd be chancy. I could try running in, but I'd only have full strength for a second or two. If I can't make the shot, we'd both be dead men."

Alfred, far away in the van, spoke quietly in Bruce's ear. "Energy signatures are spiking on the street below you; looks like another attack. He's definitely going after the scientists who designed him, just as you said."

Bruce stepped to the edge of the roof. "That's the stakes; if we don't stop him now, if we don't stop him here, then this guy will tear the city apart. It's risky, and we barely have any working tools to try this out. But I think you're going to follow me over the edge of this roof. I think you'll do whatever you can. Because at the end of the day… I think you are that hero. And I think you'll stop him, but you won't kill him. I think you'll do what you can to see that the machines are torn off the guy and he's rehabilitated. Because you are that hero."

Chloe had accused him of trusting nobody. Certainly he didn't trust her friend Oliver, who played at hero but who hadn't really faced what it really meant, what he would have to become.

This man, though… this man who was hardly human, this man who could be the worst threat he ever faced…

This man he could almost trust.

The Bat stepped off the edge of the roof, dropping down towards the street.

2.

Making it to street level in one piece wasn't a problem. Between the cape, the grappling hooks, and the new suit, Batman could handle plummeting twenty stories just fine.

Once on the ground he was face to face with the cyborg, who was holding a car up over his head.

"I know you hate these guys," growled Bruce. "And you have every right. But you're hurting and killing more innocents. Drop the car, and surrender, before this gets ugly."

The big bald man howled, throwing the car at Bruce.

It was all instincts then. Dropping and rolling, training the laser on the creature. That brought out the force field, the armor that kept it invulnerable to Clark's attacks. A green field that kept it safe.

The laser began scanning, and Bruce unleashed a salvo of tiny projectiles; bat-shaped metal weapons designed to confuse the creature. To keep him from hitting Bruce.

One strike would be the end.

The creature moved faster than thought, moving around behind Bruce. But the metal projectiles were magnetic, and clung to him, attaching themselves to the forcefield. Forcing the field to go up to maximum intensity to protect him. The resulting green haze was enough to obscure the creature's vision.

Bruce rolled to one side, dodging a blind strike that would have taken his head off.

The laser made a dinging noise; it was transferring data over a high-speed wireless connection with Alfred, who was forwarding it on to Lucius.

This was coming perilously close to teamwork, something Bruce was trying to minimize. As he told people all the time, this work was dangerous, and he couldn't continue asking people to step up and help him do it. They might get hurt.

The man managed to hit the Bat then, right in the stomach. Even through the reinforced suit it drove the air out of his lungs, and he dropped, falling onto his back.

The cyborg moved to stand over him, raising one arm high to strike him. Roaring.

Clark landed on its back, feet first, driving it down to the ground, and hit it. The blow was other-worldly, so hard that a shockwave from the impact pushed Bruce back across the ground. But it was useless against the forcefield, and only made green sparks explode upwards, sparks that were probably harmful to Clark.

"Got it," said Alfred with satisfaction. "We're uploading the instructions from Lucius now. The contraption on your arm should be ready now."

Bruce fired, but it was too late. Clark made a choking noise, falling backwards, off the creature.

Compromised because he had come forward to protect Bruce.

Bruce launched the blades out of his forearms, striking while the forcefield was wavering, trying to buy Clark time to get out of range and recharge. But Clark fell to the ground, sprawling, unable to even run now.

Which he had to have known might happen. He had charged to save Bruce, regardless of the consequences.

Because he really was every bit the hero he had acted like before.

Without the special laser-eyes attack, they had nothing strong enough to fight the supersoldier, even with that energy field that protected it from Clark down.

But Bruce hadn't been walking in blind. His original plan had been to do this on his own.

He deployed the sonic grenades, triggering the nets over his ears. He would be deaf for the duration, but hopefully the grenades would disorient the big guy. If he could hear in the normal range, it would work.

Even though Bruce couldn't hear the bombs go off, the exposed skin on his face vibrated. His teeth ached. And he could feel his ribs, suddenly, white-hot.

The big mutant stumbled to his knees, surprised. His face, so white, pale, and mask-like, contorted in a rictus of pain.

Bruce hit him then, with all the strength the suit had. Servos whined, and power beyond his own knocked the creature off its feet.

Then he grabbed Clark, hoisting him up, and fired up the grapple-hook. It whined, smoked, and died, without budging them a bit.

"Sensors on the suit indicate the young man weighs in excess of three hundred pounds, sir," said Alfred. Inside the sonic nets the sound of the radio was deafening.

"Extra-dense, huh?" said Bruce, not entirely surprised. He staggered away from the giant cyborg, who was starting to get up.

The further away from the big guy they got, the better Clark was looking. A few more shaky steps and he was starting to stir. Bruce put him down, aware that the suit was already strained. He didn't want to have to try to carry Clark without it.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Still… not great…" muttered Clark. "I need…"

"Yeah." Bruce kept walking, supporting Clark as best he could. Clark stumbled along. "The minute you get your speed back, get out of range of the guy. We've got about thirty seconds before the sonic grenades lose power… I'm surprised they didn't take you down. I thought you had super-sensitive hearing?"

"I can… tune out parts of it. Focus. It's a control thing… I've been getting better." Clark was straightening up. "He's… he's human. I can't—we can't—"

"I won't kill him," said Bruce. "Go."

There was a noise like wind, and he was simply gone, leaving a brief after-image sweeping forward away from him.

3.

Chloe zoomed out a little, getting a wider angle with the camera. She wanted to see what other tricks Bruce had up his sleeve.

Oliver leaned in the door. "Hey, can we talk?" he asked.

She shrugged. "You made good time back here."

He shrugged the cowl off, peeling off his super-sunglasses. "So, what happened after the Bat dropped off the radar? I told Clark to get to you, to protect you, and I'm not seeing him here. By the way, crummy work bringing in somebody who flakes out that quick."

It was too glib, she decided. That was how Oliver covered, how he avoided letting others see what was going on. "He made you," she replied.

"What? What do you mean?" Still with that too-innocent face.

She sighed. "You want to be as good a liar as he is? Learn to make up a believable lie. You aren't this ignorant. You've never been this ignorant. And you expect me to believe it? That's insulting. That's… it's damn insulting."

He scowled at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been raiding Luthercorp facilities. That's how you've been advancing your own tech, and it's how you've been staying a step ahead. But it means you're going beyond just stopping illegal stuff. You've stopped legal stuff. You've stepped in with no reason. And this time people got hurt."

He considered denying it. She could see that moment of hesitation on his face. But then he sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I didn't do that. It was the creature."

"Yeah. But you lied, and it was high stakes out there. Now the Bat doesn't trust you. Now he's gone on his own to take the thing out." She turned her laptop around, showing him the screen, the remote camera capturing the carnage. The Bat fighting the cyborg monstrosity, brains and muscle and science against an impossibly fast monster.

And winning.

"Oh, shit," mumbled Oliver, grabbing for his glasses. "Where is that?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, Ollie. Just… no. Sit. Clark is there, and if they can't handle it without you, then you can't help either.

They watched together, mutely.

4.

Bruce couldn't handle much more acrobatics. The suit was a little heavier than his usual suit, so he couldn't get as much distance. And his ribs were sore, his shoulder was sore.

And he was too slow.

So he was relying on the technology. Ranged attacks. Sonic attacks. He'd even resorted to shooting it in the eye with his grapple-gun.

It was bullet-proof, still too fast. And he had to try to disable the force field every thirty seconds, to keep it from putting out enough energy to disable Clark further.

Clark was back in action now, sort of. He wasn't up to moving at supersonics, and he wasn't strong enough to use his laser-eyes, but he was advancing on the creature, staggering.

He wasn't strong enough to fight it.

So the Batman stopped fighting, stepping back and holding his hands up. "Fine, you want this? You want to kill these men, these men who tortured you?"

The creature tried to press the advantage, but there was no advantage. The hands-up position he'd fallen back into wasn't the 'please don't hit me' stance it looked like. It was a ready stance, and from it Bruce was able to grapple more effectively.

The quick rabbit-punch didn't make contact, but it sent him tumbling anyway. He rolled to his feet, back up into that stance. "I'm not your enemy, I didn't do this."

Clark was close enough now to grab the creature. He grabbed the creature by the neck with both hands, grunting as he did so. As if touching it was painful.

Bruce advanced. "I think you can see that fighting us won't help you. You know it was the green archer who freed you, don't you?"

Clark's head jerked upright. He hadn't figured it out yet.

Bruce continued, keeping his voice as menacing as possible. "He freed you because what these men are doing is wrong, and we're going to stop them. Maybe not today, maybe it'll take time. But we can do it without being what they are, without being the monsters they want to be. You don't have to be a monster. You don't have to be a killer. You can be better than them."

The cyborg groaned, turning his head away from Bruce. Looking away.

5.

The cleanup afterwards was easy. Clark's doctor friend knew enough about alien physiology to guess at how to undo a lot of the damage LutherCorp had done to the creature. Ollie was more than happy to step in and offer to try to help him out—probably more from guilt than anything.

So they all ended up at Watchtower afterwards. Everybody else had their face showing, and they all knew Batman was Bruce Wayne. But for some reason he kept the mask on in front of them.

Clark was furious at Oliver for keeping secrets, of course. Angry almost beyond words. "You should have told us!" he yelled, the minute Oliver walked in.

Oliver threw his arms out in frustration, adopting a 'on-the-cross' pose. "Always, every time, the same thing! I make a mistake, and you have to drag me through it! Every time! I'm supposed to sign right up for that?"

Bruce was examining the computer setup, seemingly ignoring them. He turned around to face Oliver then, tilting his head. Listening.

There was something inhuman and demonic about his mask. About those white eyes in an expanse of blackness. In that expressionless mouth.

Then he spoke, in that voice. The voice forced them both into silence. Oliver took a half step back, away from him. "You're both being idiots."

They stared at him, listening. Waiting. He pointed at Clark. "He didn't mean to kill anybody. He wasn't careful enough, but it wasn't malicious. He was trying to save life, not take it. Examine his intentions, examine his actions. Don't be too harsh."

He pointed at Oliver. "If you can't start trusting the people who have your back, then you're going to get killed."

They were all silent for a while, waiting for him to continue. But he just glared at them, then turned away.


	12. Chapter 12

Shadow of the Bat

A Smallville X-Over

Summary: Chloe hates rich, stuck-up party boys almost as much as she hates those who use that face to hide something.

Note: this is my best attempt to cleanly lock the Dark-Knight-verse and its canonical ending into the Smallville-verse and its canonical ending.

This would be the epilogue of my story.

Spoilers for The Dark Knight Rises, naturally.

1.

Oliver left the three of them alone, but Clark seemed reluctant to leave. Worried for her? Chloe wasn't sure.

Finally the Bat turned to face him. "You're right," he said. "You could be something very different than I am. But I can't be." He'd dropped his Bat voice.

Clark sighed. "It's dark."

"Of course it's dark. What do you think I am, what I trained to be?" Bruce took the mask off. He looked silly standing there in the makeup that went on under it to disguise him further. "I trained in the way of the assassin, the way of those who destroy. I trained to be the ender of corruption, not the bringer of light and goodness. I'll never be the kind who can stand up in daylight, can show my face to the good people! I'll never be the kind to inspire the good people. I can only be the dark shadow that shows them the cost, the price of evil."

Clark sighed. "If you keep showing this face to Gotham… you'll change it. Darken it. Make it worse."

"I know!" he snarled. "I've been trying to retire this face—to find another one to show, another way to lead. But I can't! It can't be me!"

There was a long silence then. Clark, maybe more than anybody else, understood limitations. It was utterly silly, phrased that way. Clark's powers grew more god-like every day. At the same time, he was utterly limited. Hamstrung by a very rigid morality.

A morality that grew out of his power.

Bruce turned away, again just staring at the computers. "I can give you some equipment to upgrade this."

Chloe laughed, surprised. "This is cutting edge stuff—some of this LutherCorp stuff is beyond anything on the shelves!"

"And at least one generation behind what I'm releasing in six months. Which is one generation behind what I keep under my hat." He was enjoying showing off—she could hear it in his voice.

Clark stepped closer. "I can help you, too."

"No!" snarled Bruce, turning to face him. "You can't! We're too different, you and me. Maybe if I had ended up where I am some other way. Maybe if I had been somebody else, somebody not so dark. But I am what I am. Nothing can change that, can change me. And I'd be an idiot to infect you with the darkness in me… I can see that. You can be more than I am… you could show your face to the world, and it wouldn't scare them because you aren't, fundamentally, scary."

Clark twitched. "What?"

"You're not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have stuff to try to do." He moved away, striding down the hall, the cape billowing out behind him.

"Okay, the cape is a little bit cool," conceded Clark.

2.

Chloe found him skulking around the highest windows in the Watchtower headquarters, looking down on Metropolis.

She wanted to make a joke of some kind about this, about bats in the belfry. But it was just the wrong time altogether.

"The bat has to die," he said quietly.

"It's not the only way," she replied quickly.

"It is. I have to try to pour some of my resources into the police, into the city, and trust them to see from what I've done that it is possible. I have to be… I have to vanish."

She swallowed. "You could come here."

"If I came here, how long before I put the costume on just to help you? I can't do that, either. Because I will drag you, and your friend, down with me. I can't. You… this is a horrible thing to say, and you aren't going to want to hear it, but I have to say it, and I'm sorry."

She steeled herself. "Go on."

"You live on this stuff as much as I do. You know that you weren't nearly as interested in sleeping with Bruce Wayne as you were with Batman."

"You aren't really as much Bruce Wayne as you are Batman."

"It's true."

"This could be… you could take a normal life. You could escape."

He glowered at her. "I had a promise of a normal life, once. Of an after. It evaporated, vanished. You don't live a normal life. I can't live a normal life. I have my city. You have yours. This is the way it has to be, Chloe. I can give you resources, but I can't be part of your little game. I can't be… we can't be."

She had known that ever since she left Gotham City. His city needed him too much. Clark still needed her too much.

"Clark would say we have different destinies," she said softly.

He laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh. "I don't believe in destiny. Not anymore."

She wished she could have known this Rachel, the one he had loved and lost. Because she had left something terribly empty inside of the Bat. "If you need help, now or ever, you can always turn to us. Always."

3.

In the end, Chloe got a hero. Not the one she had expected. Not the one she had longed for. Not the one she had pined after when she was a girl, not the grown-up one she had left in Gotham either.

In the end Oliver grew up a lot. He learned from his mistakes, and pushed forward.

It was unexpected.

It felt right.

And Clark learned to wear a mask. To pretend to be utterly normal, wearing glasses that made him into a completely different person.

And he got a cape.

4.

It was a decade after she had first met the Batman that she heard about him coming out of retirement. Bane cut the city off from any intervention—and somehow managed to time it with the entire fourth (or was it fifth now?) coming of Zod, so that Clark was unable to help at all.

Even if he would have.

So Batman returned, and Batman died.

5.

It was a week after his death that Bruce showed up on Chloe's porch.

"Oh, hi," she said, staring at him. He looked older. Worn. The false face of the pretty-boy millionaire had been discarded.

The woman with him was wearing sunglasses that hid half her face, and frowning. "Going to invite us in?" she asked, just a tad waspishly.

"Um, sure, come in," said Chloe, stepping back. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"It was over-rated. Decided to try a proper retirement instead," he said, not bothering to make a joke of it.

"Retirement. That's… interesting." She was glad the kiddo was in school. It would be awkward to try to explain yet another random hero showing up at their house. Pretty soon she was just going to have to explain everything.

And how good were kids at keeping secrets? As she recalled, it seemed like every week at Smallville Clark had come _this close_ to spilling all the beans.

But trust was better than lies.

"Can I get you guys anything?" she asked.

"No, we're just on our way out of town. Stuff to do."

Chloe focused on his companion. Hmm. There was something familiar about her…

Click.

"Hey, didn't you come to Star City last year? And nearly got caught by Green Arrow?" Chloe asked.

The woman's lips twisted in a grimace. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Selina Kyle! The cat burglar! You robbed the museum! Bruce…"

"It's okay. Selina helped me out in my, um, troubles."

Chloe crossed her arms. "Oh, really?"

He nodded. "I don't want to share too many details… you remember we talked once about retirement?"

"And you said you couldn't."

"Yes. I was wrong. I hope I was wrong. I'm going to try it, anyway."

Chloe nodded. "I… see. And you wanted to tell me this up close and personal?"

He shrugged. "There's… a very short list of people I'm letting know that I'm still alive. Over the years we've been allies. I've provided some help… technology… I thought you should know that in my will I left a lot of the patents I had exclusive hold over to you. And Lucius got a lot of the rest, and you can always count on him."

She nodded. "Okay. And I do appreciate not being left thinking you're dead. But…"

He pressed his hands together. "One of the things you asked about was whether I could be part of your organization. Part of a group of people like me. And I couldn't, for various reasons. But there's… I've left the batcave and equipment to somebody who can probably take up the mantle."

Selina sighed. "That kid is in way over his head. You just leave him your toys and no guidance, and bam. Inevitable. He doesn't have all those ninja-skills training, even if he is trained as a cop. He doesn't have what it takes to walk in this world you just gave him access to."

Then she looked at Chloe expectantly. _Knowingly._

"Oh, shit," said Chloe, understanding.

"He's a lot more… well-adjusted than me," said Bruce. "He could be part of your Justice League. And he could use your help. He could use the help of your friends in your League. And he could help them."

"That's a surprisingly well-adjusted approach to making a hero," said Chloe, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce shrugged. "You and I did it the hard way, didn't we? But we laid out some groundwork. No reason to make him reinvent the wheel. Interested?"

Chloe grinned widely. "Oh, Bruce. When have I ever not been interested in new heroes rising? Can I get a name, contact information?"

"The usual. Go hang out on rooftops."

6.

So here she was. Another rooftop, another Batman, another chance to try to draw him into her ever-growing web of superheroes trying to save the world.

She hoped Bruce found something approximating happiness. She wasn't sure about Selina Kyle—but then, she'd never trusted former-villains-now-helping-the-good-guys. That was more Clark's department, his too-large heart.

Clark shifted from foot to foot. "Are you sure about this, Chloe? The last Batman… he was too dark."

This one would be dark too. But the League needed some of that. Somebody who would be a bit more realistic than Clark. Somebody who had seen the shadows. Oliver tried, but he was, at the end of the day, not the Batman.

The Bat dropped down off a wire, landing in a crouch. His cape flowing around him like water, darkness that concealed him. He looked up at them with eyes peering from the depths of all that blackness, cool blue eyes.

Chloe smiled. "I hear you've been having trouble with a little man in a green top hat leaving riddles behind at crime scenes. Would you like to know all there is to know about him?"

And just like that, the Justice League was whole and complete.

Well. Almost. We'll say two-thirds there.

But that's a different story.


End file.
